


Irondad Ficlets

by ironxprince



Series: Ficlets [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 75
Words: 92,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince
Summary: Short, unrelated works about the father-son duo.NOT TO BE READ ROMANTICALLY.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Shuri, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910518
Comments: 85
Kudos: 359





	1. Peter runs out of web fluid mid-swing

Peter didn’t know how it had happened.

One moment, he was swinging around the perimeter of the battle, keeping an eye out for any villains that had managed to escape Iron Man and his team, and the next he was on the ground, breath knocked out of him, black spots dancing before his eyes, a heavy throb felt in the back of his head, obvious broken ankles - the list went on and on.

The newest villain-of-the-week had tried to replicate Stark tech, and wanted to use it to take over the world for the “greater good”. Honestly, Peter was getting tired of hearing the same villain spiel over and over. It was like, what had happened to all the _creative_ villains? Now it was just, _Stark tech_ this and _taking over the world_ that. So annoying.

Though, Peter’s mood did a complete 180° when Tony actually let him tag along on the mission.

Tony was quick to explain that this was a very low-level villain, which was the only reason he was letting Peter join himself, Rhodes, and Natasha on the battlefield, but that was fine by Peter. Though Tony only allowed him to stay around the perimeter, and gave Karen _strict_ instructions to notify Tony if more than two villains came Peter’s way at once, he was actually _fighting!_ With the Avengers!

 _… Was_ being the key word. Now, he was lying on the street, trying to bite back nausea and waiting for the city to stop spinning above him.

“Hey, kid.” Tony’s voice crackled over the com in his ear. “Good job out there. I saw you web up some of those stragglers. We got all the baddies on our end. Come on back to the rendezvous spot and we’ll discuss mission reports.”

And that was it.

A flicker of happiness flared to life in Peter’s chest. _Good job out there_. Tony was proud of him! Maybe he’d even let Peter tag along on future missions.

Sure, Tony didn’t ask how Peter was doing, but Peter was actually grateful for that. If he had asked a question, Peter wouldn’t have been able to respond. His head was pounding, pain sizzled up his leg every time he twitched his toes, and he could feel blood trickling down near (what he figured was) a dislocated shoulder.

You know what? This was fine. Everything was okay. He was _fine_. He was Spider-Man. He’d just… walk it off. Yeah. With his head pounding and vision swimming, he’d put pressure on his dislocated shoulder to push himself up until he was standing on his broken ankles, and then he’d swing to Tony. By the time he got there, he’d probably be healed anyways, right? No big deal.

Peter prepared himself to move, taking a deep breath-

Ow. _Ow._

A sharp pain flickered throughout his chest. Some kind of bruised rib or something. Okay then. No deep breaths.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice came back to life in Peter’s ear, and he had to hold his breath to keep from making any pained noises. “You alright, kid?”

Peter could hear the worry in his mentor’s voice. He _had_ to respond, or Tony would - well, Peter didn’t really know. Probably put out an amber alert or something.

“Yeah.” Peter grit his teeth to make sure no cries of pain or painful gasps got mixed in. “Coming.”

The worry in Tony’s voice was evident. “Everything okay, Pete?”

Peter made the mistake of trying to move.

He let out a hiss of pain as black spots danced across his vision. The pain in his head increased tenfold. He felt like his thoughts had hardened and were physically banging against the inside of his skull. That’ll teach him for trying to move his head to the side.

“Sit tight, kid. I’m coming.”

The com clicked off before Peter had the chance to argue, the sudden sound of repulsors on full blast being the last thing he heard.

 _Alright_ , Peter thought to himself, a heavy feeling of dread settling in his chest. _Last chance to move before Tony gets here to convince him you’re okay and can help on the next mission._

Peter took a few shallow breaths (learning his lesson from before to not take big ones) and prepared himself to move. _On the count of three_. _One_. Peter forced his eyes open, trying to focus on the clouds above him through the black spots. _Two_. He tensed his fingers in anticipation. _Three_. He blacked out.

  * • •



When Peter came to, he knew exactly where he was. He had been here many times before - the med bay. And because he had been here so many times, he knew exactly what would happen next.

_Three… Two… One…_

Tony came rushing into the room, right on time.

“Peter, thank goodness,” he sighed, clutching a hand to his chest. Peter rolled his eyes, the action almost making him black out again. His vision went black as he fought to regain focus. When he recovered, he saw Tony sitting at the foot of his bed, facing him. He was wearing his sunglasses as he stared at Peter, but the boy could still see the stern expression Tony wore from the tightness of his lips, the flaring of his nostrils. It wasn’t hard to match his eyes to the picture. It wasn’t like Peter hadn’t seen similar disappointment in them many times before.

“Don’t worry,” Peter mumbled, tongue feeling heavy and unnaturally large. “I’m alright.”

“That’s because we have you practically drowning in morphine,” Tony retorted, voice tight. Peter blushed and looked down, hearing Tony sigh. His voice was quieter when he said his next words. “What happened, kid? We checked your suit after and you were completely out of web fluid.”

With the tension stripped away, Peter thought he could hear something close to _fear_ in Tony’s voice - fear, and desperation.

Peter shrugged, the image of himself trying to replicate the Iron Man mask with his webs on a wall replaying in his mind. You couldn’t really _blame_ him - he made sure the perimeter was clear before participating in the aimless task, and he _was_ getting bored…. “Must’ve forgotten to refill it.”

Tony cocked his head like he was skeptical, but let it go.

“You can’t forget stuff like that, kid. You know when I finally got to you, you were unconscious? Body twisted in all sorts of unnatural positions, bleeding out. I thought-” Tony cut himself off abruptly and looked away, his hands clenched into fists against his legs. Peter’s heart seemed to drop to his feet as he looked up at Tony’s hunched-over form.

“I’m sorry.” His whisper was soft, but still audible.

Tony looked back up at him, reaching up to gently pull the glasses off his face and set them down on the table beside Peter’s bed. His eyes were serious, but red with dark bags underneath them. He had been crying.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again, Peter Benjamin Parker,” he chastised, eyes wide and unblinking. _He looks a little like Nick Fury_ , Peter thought suddenly, but he had to shoo the thought away, it was so weird. He nodded slowly, taking caution to remember what he was now positive to be a concussion.

Tony sighed, and his whole body seemed to deflate with relief and the exhaustion that came from being upset and stressed for so long.

“Okay. Come here. Actually, that was rhetorical. Don’t move.” He moved to sit against the headboard beside Peter and held his hands open, letting Peter fall into them until he was lying against his mentor’s chest. “Kid, you really did a number on yourself.”

Peter chuckled lightly, the list of self-assessed injuries making itself known in his mind - though, he was painfully aware there were probably so many more officially diagnosed ones he had no idea about.

Peter felt Tony sigh deeply beneath him, and he could practically feel the tension being released from the man. He urged himself to do the same - but with a smaller breath, obviously. The pain in his ribs (and all over, actually) was barely there anymore underneath the morphine and his enhanced healing, but it still hurt to breathe - and that wasn’t a good feeling.

After a moment of silence, Peter finally got up the courage to ask what he’d been nervous about the entire time.

“Can I still come with you on your next mission?”

Maybe Tony would be forgiving. It wasn’t _Peter’s_ fault, just his suit’s low capacity for web fluid. Peter was sure Tony realized this, too. He would say, _Of course, my favourite protégé_ , and then the two of them would become the best crime-fighting partners the world had ever seen-

Tony laughed suddenly, short and loud.

“Nope.” He popped the _p_. “Never again. Actually, your patrolling time is being reduced. An hour, _maximum_ , each night.”

Peter sat up so fast his head spun (but then again, that wasn’t such a hard thing to accomplish at the moment).

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Tony just shook his head.

“Come on, Mr. Stark, that’s not fair! It wasn’t my fault, and-”

“Keep complaining, and it’ll be half an hour, grounded. I’ll confiscate your web fluid.”

Peter glared at him, but Tony just wanted to laugh. He looked like a puppy, trying to be intimidating.

“Fine,” Peter finally conceded, grumbling, and he leaned back against his mentor, who was now chuckling slightly.

“Oh, and also, I know about your little homemade Iron Man mural-slash-shrine.”

“ _What?_ ”


	2. Chaotic driving lessons

Tony looked up from his Starkpad when he heard someone walk into the kitchen, and was met with the hunched-over form of Peter Parker. He set his coffee mug down on the table and leaned back in his chair as Peter started rummaging through cabinets with barely even a glance in Tony’s direction.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Tony spoke up with a twinge of amusement, remembering the days when their relationship was still new, and Peter was terrified and timid during their weekly lab sessions. Now, though, with the two of them meeting three times a week and every second weekend, Peter was more comfortable, evident in the way Peter just rolled his eyes as he grabbed a box of crackers and joined Tony at the round table.

“You should straighten out your back.” Tony commented, watching Peter’s hunched form as he stared down at the table. “Fix your posture.”

Peter froze from where he was holding a cracker just in front of his lips and looked up at Tony, squinting one eye analytically. “You’re such a dad.” Tony shrugged and picked up his mug, taking another sip to cover up his smile.

Peter put the cracker in his mouth and spoke through the chewing. “Also, why are you drinking coffee? It’s twelve in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t you worry about me. It’s you who’s eating directly out of a box of crackers - _and_ talking with your mouth full, mind you. Please tell me this isn’t your lunch.”

“Breakfast. I just woke up.” Tony groaned and rested his elbows on the table so he could drop his head in his hands dramatically.

“Peter - and, this is coming from _me_ \- your living schedule is astounding.”

“It’s _summer_. There _is_ no schedule.” Tony scoffed in amusement as he put down his mug. “Anyway, I wanna get my license.”

Tony leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, mildly shocked at the sudden change in topic. “Driver’s license?”

“No, pilot’s license,” Peter answered sarcastically. Tony found himself rolling his eyes, _again_.

“Right. You’re sixteen now.”

“Have been for a week. Catch up.”

Tony cocked his head and let his mouth fall open in surprise. Peter looked up and giggled, before reaching into the box of crackers, pulling one out, and launching it at Tony’s mouth. It hit somewhere around Tony’s nose and fell to the floor.

“You’re picking that up,” Tony commented, and Peter smirked. “Have you talked to May?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded as he leaned down to pick up the cracker, then put it in his mouth. Tony had to force himself to remain still, to keep from wincing. “I’m taking my test this Saturday.”

Tony wanted to verify with Peter that today was Tuesday, but was scared of getting talked back to by a teenager, so he just thought it over himself.

“That’s in four days.”

“Yup.”

“Have you studied?”

“No. What for?” Peter looked up at Tony, unbothered, and the man looked back with wide eyes. “What? I know what the road signs mean and everything. I know green means stop, red means go, and yellow means speed up.”

Tony sighed, and Peter giggled behind his hand as he threw another cracker in his mouth.

“Have you at least practised driving a car, around a parking lot, or whatever?” A small blush crept up Peter’s cheeks.

“No,” he mumbled as he straightened in his chair, and Tony could tell he was getting defensive. “But I’ve played Burnout Paradise and I’m really good at it, so, I mean, same thing, right?”

Tony got a look on his face that could only mean one thing, and judging by the way Peter sighed, he knew what was coming. One of Tony Stark’s Bright Ideas.

“You got homework?” Tony asked Peter as he stood from the table and began to walk away from the kitchen.

Peter remained seated and watched him go. “Mr. Stark, it’s _summer_.”

“Good,” the man replied distractedly. “Do it.” Then, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Peter watching after him in confusion… and slight speculation. Peter thought he knew where this was going.

  * • •



Peter did not know where this was going.

Tony resurfaced not even fifteen minutes later to see Peter lying on his back across three kitchen chairs, his phone held above his face as he typed something on it. Tony called his name, and Peter was so startled, he dropped his phone on his face.

Tony doubled over, laughing, as Peter groaned and stood up, fixing the chairs in their respective places around the table. He rubbed his hands against the dull pains with a frown as Tony recovered, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” Peter grumbled, but Tony was still laughing too much to answer. Instead of talking, the older man nodded down the hallway, and Peter followed.

“So, which car are you gonna let me test drive?” Peter asked as he followed Tony through the halls. “ _Please_ tell me it’s the Porsche.”

Tony laughed again and Peter saw him shake his head from behind as he turned down a different hallway, one that led _away_ from the garage.

“Yeah, I’m not letting you anywhere _near_ my cars, _especially_ not the Porsche, unless…” Tony finally turned into a room and held his arms wide, “you prove to me you’re as good at Burnout Paradise as you say you are.”

Peter stepped around Tony curiously, and laughed at what he saw.

There was a large, flat screen t.v. across the far wall, displaying the title screen for Burnout Paradise. Peter smiled at the familiarity of such a large piece of his childhood in the honest-to-goodness Stark tower. Across from it were two chairs that were designed to look like those of a car-

Wait.

“Tony, did you dismantle an actual _car?_ ”

Tony stepped further into the room with his arms behind his back, inspecting the chairs. “You like it? They’re from my ‘67 Camaro.”

“You dismantled an antique sports car…” Peter stepped into the room, just noticing the real steering wheels and honest-to-goodness stick shifts beside them, “for a _video game?_ ”

Tony smiled and shook his head, moving to sit down in a chair and gesturing for Peter to do the same. He complied.

“Not just any video game.”

Tony called out for the game to begin, and sat back, one hand on the wheel, the other on the clutch beside him. Peter, on the other hand, reached his foot for the gas pedal at his feet (which was _also_ authentic) and slammed his foot to the ground, frowning when his on-screen car didn’t move.

“You need to put it in drive, bud.”

Peter’s shot his head around to stare at Tony, looking offended. “You’re kidding.”

Tony shrugged innocently, but Peter glared at it, and placed his hand tentatively on the clutch. His eyes shot over to Tony’s hand where it rested on _his_ clutch, and Tony removed it when he caught Peter looking, wanting the kid to figure it out for himself.

Carefully, Peter moved the clutch to D for drive, and looked back at Tony triumphantly. Tony smirked in response, and nodded his head to the screen.

Confused, Peter looked over to the t.v., and cursed loudly.

“ _Shit_ -” he scrambled to reposition his hands on the steering wheel to keep his car from rolling backwards down the hill it had previously been resting on. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal and his car shot forward, rear-ending another in the process. Peter put all his weight forward in his chair and slammed his foot on the break, staring at the screen with wide eyes.

Tony blinked slowly, smiling that _I-told-you-so, I’m-always-right_ Tony Stark smile.

“I’m going to let that curse slide-”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yelled, double-checking that his foot was pressed firmly on the break before he turned to glare at Tony. “What did you do to Burnout Paradise?”

“Not so easy, huh?” he taunted, and Peter glared at him before taking a moment to reassess that his car was still pressed against the back of the one in front of him (which he had yet to realize was Tony’s). At least it wasn’t rolling down the hill.

“Yeah, I fixed the programming a tad. Now, it’s more realistic. So, we’re going to drive through Paradise City, obeying all traffic laws on the way, and you’re going to practise for your test on Saturday.”

“Mr. Stark, this is crazy-”

“Your car’s rolling down the hill.”

Peter’s head snapped to his screen in surprise, and he realized his foot had inched off the break. He slammed it back down, and his car rocked back on the hill, suspended.

“You ready, underoos?”

Peter grit his teeth, and he slowly inched his foot off the break, replacing it with the gas - and slammed into the back of Tony’s car for a second time.

“Ease onto the gas, bud.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he muttered, and tried again this time, letting his car roll down the hill before pressing the gas again, albeit gentler, and turning his wheel to the right. His car lurched across three lanes of traffic.

“Too far,” Tony commented lightly, and Peter’s hands clenched on the wheel.

“Yeah, I got that,” he replied thickly, and turned his wheel to the left - more gently, this time - and slowly brought his car to rest next to the one it had previously been behind. He moved his foot from the gas pedal to the break, before looking at Tony with a defiant glare.

“Good job,” Tony praised, and Peter tried not to look _too_ pleased with the compliment. He was supposed to be mad at Tony, after all.

Tony moved his hand to the horn in the centre of the steering wheel and, keeping his eyes fixed on Peter’s, pressed it twice. When he heard the sound emit loudly from the speakers, Peter shot his head to the screen, and saw the headlights of the car he had rear-ended light up in time with the beeps.

“That was _your_ car?” Peter exclaimed, offended. Tony shrugged with a smirk. “Why didn’t you just _move_ it?”

“I wanted to see how you would avoid it. You failed, by the way.”

Peter groaned and leaned back in his chair, resting his arm over his eyes, letting his foot fall from the brake. His car rolled down the hill, flew off the pier, and landed in the ocean below. Tony watched it with amusement. When the game reset the car in its default starting position, back behind Tony’s car, Tony reached over Peter’s chair and put the car in park for him, before resettling in his own.

“You wanna try again?” he coaxed, but Peter shook his head.

“I’ll figure it out on the day.”

Tony laughed loudly. “Yeah, I think we both just saw why that’s a horrible plan.” He paused for a moment. “Come on, kid. Try again. Spider-Man needs his license.”

“Can’t you just get it for me? Pay them off or something? You’re always offering to _pull some strings_.”

Tony laughed again at Peter’s horrible imitation of him. He knew for a fact that his voice wasn’t that deep.

“You rear-end me one more time, and I’m talking to your examiner to make sure he _doesn’t_ give you your license.”

Peter exhaled, comically drastically,, before letting his arm fall from his eyes and resettling his hands on the wheel. Tony smirked proudly, but tried to bite it back as he placed his foot on the break and put his own car into drive.

“Ten and two,” he commented, and watched Peter reposition his hands without complaint. _That’s my boy_ , he thought proudly, and they started driving.

  * • •



Two hours later, Tony followed Peter’s car into a parking lot and watched the kid park directly between two spaces. He swallowed back a laugh; at least Peter had successfully backed in… kind of.

Truth be told, Peter had rear-ended Tony at least three more times, but they were all accidental, and at least Peter was _trying_ \- so Tony let them slide.

“Finally,” Peter sighed, putting his car in park and leaning back in his chair. Tony drove his car in beside Peter’s for show (meaning he was double-parked as well), parked it, and turned to stare at Peter.

“Not bad, for your first time.”

“You’re judging me.”

“No,” Tony reassured. “Not at all. It was your _first time_ , and that wasn’t too shabby.” Peter lolled his head to the side so he was staring at Tony. “What? I’m being serious. I do think you should reschedule your test, though.”

Peter groaned, shutting his eyes again and letting his head fall back against his chair.

Tony leaned over and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. The kid didn’t react.

“We can practise every day until then, alright? I’m getting you that license. Spider-Man doesn’t ride the bus.”

Peter chuckled lightly, opening his eyes to turn and look at Tony, who smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Pete.” And for everything, including something as trivial as a driving test, Tony meant it.


	3. Tony's vs Howard's parenting

Tony looked up from his project suddenly when he heard a quiet knock at his workshop window. He let the screwdriver fall from his hand without a second thought when he met the eyes of Peter Parker, his tiny hand curled into a fist, repeatedly banging against the glass.

Tony stood, his mouth in a wide grin, as he hurried over to open the door for Peter and let the seven-year-old run into the workshop, eyes lit up by the mechanics and machinery Tony had lying around.

_Howard sighed when he heard a knock on the door frame of his office. He looked up, flicking his pen to the desk as he stared at his son._

_“What is it, Anthony?” he deadpanned._

“How was school, kiddie?” Tony asked with a smile, watching Peter marvel at what Tony had begun to take for granted. Peter was always impressed by the workshop, even though he saw it every day. After school, the boy would always sprint down to the workshop and just… look. Tony had grown used to it.

Today, though, Tony knew that there was something special that had happened at school, something Peter had been working toward for the last month. Today was about _Peter_ , and giving him the recognition he deserved.

Tony snuck up behind Peter (which wasn’t hard, with how in awe the kid was), grabbed him around the waist, and tossed him in the air, amidst his squeals.

“Did something happen at school today? Anything you want to show me?” Tony caught Peter and held him out at arm’s length. He was surprisingly light, even with the Iron Man backpack he wore.

Peter’s eyes lit up at the reminder, as if he had forgotten already.

“The science fair!” he squealed, legs kicking in excitement. Tony couldn’t help but join in and laugh as he began to swing his kid in a circle.

_“I-I had my school science fair today.”_

_“And?”_

_Tony flinched back at Howard’s harsh tone._

“Yeah? How’d it go? Did you have fun?”

Peter’s giggles grew as Tony swung him around like discus (albeit a lot more gentle).

“Da-ad!” Peter laughed, and the sound was like music to Tony’s ears. “It’s in my bag! You’re gonna break it!”

_“Well, I made a mini robot. It can walk and… and everything.”_

_“Everything, huh?” Howard made a gesture for Tony to bring the project closer. Tony stepped forward sheepishly from the doorway and handed him the robot, which Howard inspected closely… before he began bending the pieces in ways they shouldn’t be bent._

_“It’s not strong enough, Anthony. The hinges aren’t tightened, the material isn’t strong enough….”_

_“Dad, please, you’re going to break it!”_

_“That’s not my problem, then, is it?”_

“Wait, wait, _what’s_ in your bag?” Tony put Peter down and stepped back, kneeling so he could look his kid in the eyes. Peter slid his bag off his back and unzipped it, staring at Tony with a mischievous grin. He held his hands in his bag and his arms disappeared up to his shoulders, waiting to reveal what was inside.

“Are you ready?” He spoke as if he was about to show Tony some kind of super secret, mysterious object that had never seen before. Tony made a serious expression, pinching his lips together and narrowing his eyes playfully. Peter laughed, and Tony couldn’t hold his expression any longer, especially not while looking at the smiling face of his son.

In a single motion, Peter squeezed his eyes shut with a wide grin, pulled the object out of his bag, and jumped in the air with a loud, “Ta-da!”

Peter was triumphantly holding a trophy high in his tiny hands. Upon closer inspection, Tony noticed the Dollarama sticker underneath and could make out the word _Participation_ on the side, but Peter was holding it as if it was his most prized possession.

_“Well, was there a grading system?” Tony nodded quickly, a small smile beginning to grow. “And?”_

_“I got second place!” Tony held up his red ribbon, smiling proudly. Howard just shook his head._

_“Anthony,” he sighed, and Tony’s face fell. “Who beat you?”_

_“O-Olivia Jenkins, Sir.”_

_“And what did she make?”_

_“A circuit board.”_

_Howard ran his hand down his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You came second place to a circuit board?”_

_Tony went silent._

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, and his arms opened wide. “Petey-Pie!” he exclaimed, and Peter’s smile grew wider as he started to bounce on his feet again. “You got a trophy?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Peter was panting now, his excitement exhausting him. “Ned got one too, but his said second place, and it was _so cool_ , he built a volcano!” Tony was afraid he might have to comfort a crying kid, but he should’ve known Peter was too sweet to be jealous. “It exploded and everything! It was all like, _whoosh!_ And some lava got on my shoes! I thought it was going to be hot, but it wasn’t!”

Peter took a step closer to Tony and leaned forward, like he wanted to tell Tony a secret. Tony smiled in amusement.

“Ned told me it wasn’t really lava,” he whispered in that childish voice that was loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. “He said it was baking soda and vinegar!”

“No!” Tony gasped as Peter stepped back, and the kid nodded vigorously, starting to jump again.

“ _Yes!_ Can we make one, Dad? Please? Pretty please?”

_“Well, um, Dad, Henry made a volcano, and it was kind of cool, so I was wondering if-”_

_“You want to make one, too?” Tony nodded sheepishly. “Is there another project coming up?” Tony hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head slowly. “So why do you want to make one?”_

_Tony fiddled with his hands as he looked down at the floor. “I thought it might be… fun,” he mumbled, voice shrinking to a whisper on that final word. Howard groaned._

_“You don’t improve, you don’t make money, as a result of_ fun _.”_

_Tony nodded. He didn’t know why he expected anything different, and he bit his lip to keep from crying._

“Okay! Okay, Pete, yes, of course, we can make one.”

Peter began to sprint for the stairs, but Tony called him back.

“Hey! I heard about Ned, how’d you do?”

“Oh! Oh!” Peter came bounding back, like he had forgotten, _again_. Tony was constantly in awe of how quickly his kid’s mind moved. “Ned said the car was _so cool!_ I even gave him the remote and he got to drive it!”

“And what did he think of the special colours you picked?”

“He _loved_ the blue! He says blue is _his_ favourite colour, too!”

“Well, of course it is!” Tony laughed. “Blue is the only acceptable colour.”

“No!” Peter looked offended, but Tony just wanted to laugh at the way his eyebrows were scrunched up. “Your red and gold headlights were awesome!”

“Okay.” Tony reached his arms out and Peter ran crashing into them, nuzzling against his dad’s shoulder as Tony held him close. “Red, gold, and blue.” With one hand against his kid’s curls and the other supporting his torso, Tony stood from the floor with only minor grunts, and started to walk towards the stairs, picking up the trophy on the way out. He left Peter’s backpack behind; they could come back for it later.

 _“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time on_ fun _,” Howard continued with his hands folded tightly on the desk in front of him, “you wouldn’t have gotten second place.”_

_Tears began to sting the back of Tony’s eyes._

_“Don’t you dare cry, Anthony. Stark men are made of iron. Crying fixes nothing.” Tony nodded, running an arm against his eyes to wipe away the tears._

_“Now, go find your mother.” Howard looked back to his checkbook and continued to work like Tony was nothing._

“You did awesome, Petey-Pie. I’m so proud of you.” Tony felt Peter tense happily, even without seeing his face. “How about some ice cream to celebrate?”

Peter started kicking against Tony’s side in excitement, and Tony laughed as he put his kid down, instead grabbing his hand as they headed for the door. Tony stopped just inside the doorway beside the shelf of keepsakes and displayed the trophy proudly beside a picture of the two of them with frosting on their noses. _Pete’s sixth birthday_ , Tony remembered with a smile.

_“D’you - d’you want to keep my ribbon?”_

_Howard sighed, looking back up at Tony._

_“And why would I want to do that?”_

_Tony held it up to Howard, eyes hopeful._

_“It-it’s my first ribbon.”_

_Wordlessly, Howard reached his hand out for the ribbon, and Tony bounded forward to give it to him, smiling widely. Howard looked up at Tony, then at the ribbon, and picked up the robot in the same hand… before dropping them in the garbage bin beside his desk._

_“No-” Tony tried to protest and reach for the bin, but Howard glared at him, and he shrunk back into himself._

_“Come show me if you get a first place ribbon.”_

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Peter chanted, tugging on Tony’s arm, and he laughed as he lifted Peter to look at the shelf.

“You like it?”

Peter stared for a second, his mouth open in an _o_. Then, slowly, he reached his hand out to touch the photo of the two of them.

“I wanna do that again.”

Tony smiled. “It’s a good thing we’re going to get ice cream, then.”

Peter shivered. “Won’t it be cold?”

“Only if you don’t move in time for me to put it on your nose,” Tony teased, and he touched a finger to Peter’s nose in emphasis.

_Tony hung his head low as he swiftly left Howard’s office, biting back tears._

Peter giggled as the door closed behind them.


	4. Peter meets Shuri

The battle was finally over.

Thanos had been defeated. The dusted were now brought back. They had _won_.

Technically, it was thanks to Tony. _He_ was the one that had been brave enough, strong enough, to wear the gauntlet and snap his fingers. Everyone kept thanking _him_ for it - but realistically, he knew he couldn’t take credit, because it wasn’t _just_ him. It was all of the Avengers, and the Revengers ( _really, Thor?_ ), and the Guardians, and everyone who had joined hands around the battlefield and shared the damage until it was stretched so thin, the only thing it left behind was PTSD.

So, week after week, Tony was travelling (followed closely by his protégé) to personally thank every individual person who helped him to win, to _survive_ \- because he knew there was no way he would’ve survived without them.

This week, he was heading to Wakanda.

He had called ahead, obviously - he had grown to trust Steve once again, but still wanted a second opinion when the man had told Tony he had to _fly into the side of a mountain_ \- and so T’Challa, Shuri, and Okoye, along with about a dozen Dora Milaje were standing to greet him as Tony stepped down from his personal jet, Peter bouncing excitedly beside him.

Tony had to force back laughter as he saw the brown curls flounce around beside him. The kid was just _so damn excited_. At first, he was nervous, asking Tony anxiously if he had to dress formally - but after Tony reassured him that an honest-to-goodness _suit_ was in no means necessary, excitement seemed to be the only expression he was capable of showing as he paced alongside Tony in his NASA hoodie.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the lack of a suit that got him excited, Tony thought, but the Wakandan princess Tony had told him about.

_“You’re sure I don’t have to wear a suit?” Peter asked, fiddling with his fingers anxiously. “You’re not gonna show up on the day you’re picking me up in a suit of your own, right?”_

_Tony just laughed. “Kid, you think I’m tricking you? Take a good look.” He gestured down to the jeans and AC/DC t-shirt he was currently sporting. “This is all you’re gonna get.”_

_Peter seemed to relax at that, his expression sinking into one of a weak smile. He nodded. “Good.”_

_“Yeah, I heard they dress really casual there,” Tony continued thoughtfully. “Even the royalty. You remember the Black Panther? His name’s T’Challa, by the way._ King _T’Challa, technically.”_

_Peter instantly perked up, stars beginning to shine in his eyes as he nodded quickly. Tony remembered when the kid reacted that way for Iron Man, so long ago._

_“Whoa, okay, you seem way too excited, especially because I’m about to tell you about his_ sister _.”_

 _Rather than deflating, like Tony had expected, Peter just looked even_ more _excited._

_“Sister?”_

_“Yup.” Tony popped the_ p _. “I heard they have to threaten to take away her lab time if they want her to dress formally for special occasions.”_

_Peter’s eyes grew even wider, if possible. “Lab time?”_

_“Oh. Yeah.” Tony held a hand to his head, like he was face-palming. “Yeah, Shuri. She makes all their technology there. It’s insane. She’s even smarter than me. Did I really not tell you this? I could learn a thing or two from her - or even, like, fifty.”_

_Peter shook his head vigorously. “No. No one’s smarter than you.”_

_“She is.”_

_“She can’t be.”_

_“She really is.”_

_“It’s not possible.”_

_“Kid, I promise you, I’m not kidding. She’s incredible. Made T’Challa’s suit, too.”_

_By this point, Tony was surprised Peter’s eyes were still in his head._

_“The one that repels bullets?”_

_“That very one.”_

_“When- when can I meet her?”_

_Tony laughed. “As soon as we get off the jet, I hope. You’ll love her.” Peter nodded slowly, looking starstruck, as if he could already imagine all the cool stuff he could work on with her - and Tony was excited to see it, too. “Actually, I think she’s around your age.”_

_“WHAT?”_

Tony shot Peter a quick, smirking side glance at the memory as he stepped in front of Peter to reach T’Challa, reaching out to shake his hand strongly. T’Challa was wearing a coat that looked like it was meant for ceremonial occasions, which Tony hoped the kid wasn’t too put-off by.

“King T’Challa,” he greeted, smiling as he released his hand.

“Please, Mr. Stark, just T’Challa.”

“Alright then, T’Challa, call me Tony.”

T’Challa nodded in recognition, before turning his attention to Peter.

It was like Tony saw what was going to happen before it did.

Without thinking, Tony reached his hand out to grip Peter’s shoulder, the boy’s feet stumbling over the pavement. He caught himself suddenly and looked up at Tony gratefully.

“I take it you’re Peter Parker?” T’Challa asked, smiling kindly. Peter nodded his head so vigorously, Tony thought it might fall off.

“Yes, King Mr. T’Challa, Sir.” He crouched in something that looked like a bow, and Tony didn’t know whether to laugh at just how _pure_ the kid was, or whether he should look away in second-hand embarrassment - though, it seemed that T’Challa had beat him to it.

He held out his hands, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “That’s not necessary,” he stuttered, and Peter lifted himself back up, his face beet red. Okay, _now_ Tony was laughing.

“So, you’re the great Spider-Man?” T’Challa asked with a smile. If possible, Peter’s blush grew even deeper as he nodded.

“And, you - you’re the- the panther. Black. Black cat, I mean. Panther-”

“Okay, kid,” Tony gripped Peter’s shoulder and pulled the kid against his side. “I’m gonna have to stop you there.”

T’Challa looked like he was about to burst out laughing as he looked fondly at Peter. Tony easily indentified the expression - of course, he had seen it on his own face enough times.

Peter took a breath against Tony’s side, and Tony held him just a tad tighter, figuring how his anxiety must’ve been acting up. He took the time to look around at the rest of the reception party, his eyes falling on Okoye, standing to the right of T’Challa.

Her back was straight, spear held securely at her side, posture perfect, but Tony didn’t miss the side glances she was shooting in Peter’s direction. He had already won over _her_ heart, too - and honestly, Tony wasn’t surprised. Anyone that met the kid fell in love with him almost instantly.

Suddenly, a new face pushed its way into Tony’s sight, one he recognized belonged to Shuri, and Tony smiled when he saw she was wearing just what he had predicted - a graphic tee with simple zig-zagging lines, and a light brown skirt. He felt Peter straighten beside him.

“Princess Shuri,” Tony nodded in greeting. Shuri cast a surprised look at her brother.

“ _Princess_ Shuri? Brother, why don’t you treat me with this much respect?”

“Because you’re my little sister,” he shot back as he stepped towards her, and it was clear they were about to get into a minor argument before Okoye stepped between them.

“My Princess,” she urged, raising her eyebrows at Shuri. “My King,” she continued, spitting through gritted teeth as she turned to glare at T’Challa. “We have visitors.”

Tony smiled as he watched their interaction, taking an instant liking to Okoye.

Shuri turned back to smile at Tony, which he returned easily. Then, she looked down to Peter.

“And who are you?”

“ _Sister_ ,” T’Challa scolded, but she just stuck her tongue out at him. He looked away, a look of (fond) annoyance evident on his face.

“I-” Peter spoke up, and all eyes turned to him - though, this only seemed to cause him to shut down. “I- it’s- uh-”

“Peter,” Tony introduced for him, shaking the kid’s shoulder gently. _Come on, kid, wake up._ “This is Peter Parker.”

“Uh - yeah.” Peter smiled shakily as he thrust his hand out towards Shuri. “Yeah, that’s me. Parker. Oh, uh, _Peter_ , I mean.”

Tony wanted to repeatedly bang his head against a wall. _I literally just gave you the words, kid._

Shury just seemed amused as she shook his hand, smiling brightly. “Nice to meet you Peter.”

Peter just looked at a loss for words. “Uh-huh.”

Tony couldn’t hold it back anymore. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply in frustration, chest rising and falling drastically. Shuri seemed to notice, and giggled slightly. The next thing Tony knew, something was pulling Peter away from his grip. He shot open his eyes, and saw Shuri tugging a shocked (and still bright-red) Peter away from him.

“So, I heard you’re Spider-Man,” Tony heard her say, watching incredulously as his kid got pulled further and further away from him.

“Me? Oh, uh, _no_. No, of course - of course _I’m_ not Spider-Man, I mean-”

Shuri laughed again. “You don’t need to pretend here. I know.”

Tony could see Peter’s shoulders slump in relief.

“So, uh, w-where are we going?” he asked, and Tony was proud at the fact that _he said a full sentence!_

“To my lab, of course,” Shuri answered, as if it was obvious. “You _need_ to tell me how your webs work. Is that nylon? No, it can’t be. How do you get them so _strong_?” She trailed off, asking questions and posing theories to herself that she answered almost immediately after.

Even from this distance, Tony could see the kid beaming.


	5. "You were missing for days!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Superfamily

Tony paced angrily in front of the couch in the tower’s communal living space, Steve watching from just beyond the doorway. He could see Tony and Tony him, but not Peter, who was sitting on the couch (and probably wishing he could phase into the cushions like Vision) - which was probably for the best. If Steve saw Peter, if he came face-to-face with his son who had disappeared without a trace and suddenly showed up on their doorstep acting like nothing was wrong three days later, his and Tony’s _good cop/bad cop_ routine would go straight out the window, and Peter would be facing two _livid_ bad cops.

Tony stopped pacing and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, looking with wide eyes at the couch, at _Peter_ , and Steve tried to imagine his son’s face right now. Was he guilty, mad, or simply passive? Steve had to force himself not to check. He and Tony had a plan for Peter’s punishment already thought out - Tony would do the face-to-face, get Peter’s answers directly from his mouth, and then pass them on to Steve, who would work behind the scenes to choose his punishment.

“What were you thinking?” Tony’s voice was quiet and could be perceived as calm, but Steve knew better. He saw the way his husband’s jaw was clenched, heard the anger hidden behind his words. Saw the angry red veins popping out of his forehead and the way his chest was slightly puffed out, like he was holding in a breath for fear of it coming out like a shout.

“I’m sorry,” Peter answered, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if he was trying to calm Tony down. It only escalated the issue.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep from talking, knowing Tony would deliver the words they both wanted to say.

“ _Sorry_ doesn’t cut it, Peter Benjamin Rogers-Stark. Not this time. You were missing for _days_!” Tony tilted his chin up and tapped his foot on the carpet as if in impatience, but Steve noticed the anxious habit in the action. Steve and Tony had spent the last 72 hours doing everything in their power to find Peter when he hadn’t come home from school Wednesday night. Steve searched subway lines and bus stops while Tony flew overhead in the Iron Man suit, and after three days of fruitless results they were about to call the other Avengers (the NYPD were _useless_ ) when Peter knocked on the door with his hands in his pockets and a passive expression on his face, wearing the same clothes as when he had left for school Wednesday morning. Sure, Steve and Tony were angry, but they were also anxious. _Terrified_. They had been trading off sleep for the past two nights, neither one getting more than half an hour of rest at a time.

“I… I was at a party with Ned.”

Steve leaned his head back against the door frame and squeezed his eyes shut at Peter’s answer, trying to contain his anger at the obvious lie. Tony chuckled humourlessly under his breath.

“We checked with Ned. He said he hadn’t seen you since third period calculus. Try again.”

“I-I meant MJ.”

Steve felt the anger boiling hot in his veins. If Peter had told the truth, if he was honest with his parents about why he left, begged for forgiveness, and offered to do a few chores, he would get away with a grounding and a stern talking-to - but he was _lying_. The only thing Steve hated more than lying were Nazis, and he already defeated those.

Steve stepped out from the doorway and into the room, hands on his hips and lips pursed. He saw Peter jump from his peripherals at his arrival, but he barely spared his son a glance. He moved to stand at Tony’s side and looked straight ahead, taking a deep breath to attempt to calm himself. It didn’t work.

“Peter, you will tell us the truth, and you will tell us _now_.” The words reverberated from somewhere deep in Steve’s throat, coming out dark and strangled in a way Steve _never_ spoke to his child. Well, that was before his child snuck out for three days, and refused to tell him _why_.

Peter didn’t respond. Tony let out the breath he was holding in a loud exhale. Steve’s irritation only grew.

Steve’s eyes dropped to his son at the lack of response, fully ready to begin threatening him with groundings and phone confiscations and patrol restrictions, when he froze suddenly. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. His hands grew slack on his hips and fell to his side when he saw his kid clearly for the first time in three days.

Peter was looking up at Steve, eyes wide and face pale, trembling slightly. His feet were up on the couch, knees tucked against his chest, hands hidden behind them on his stomach. His hair was greasy and hanging in a way Steve had never seen it before, hiding Peter’s left temple - but if Steve looked close enough, if he focused, he noticed the skin behind Peter’s hair… _wasn’t_ tan. It was blue and purple. And that wasn’t grease in his hair, that… that was _blood_.

Steve dropped to his knees in front of the couch, eyes wide in worry and pure _fear_ , and lifted his hand to hold it just beside Peter’s face. Peter’s trembling grew more violent and he flinched away from Steve’s hand.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice was no longer angry, but… worried. Confused. Steve just shook his head, swallowed thickly, and reached again for Peter’s face. This time, Peter didn’t move away. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears beginning to form, and let Steve brush the hair out of his face to reveal a large, angry-looking bruise, spreading from the outer corner of Peter’s left eye up to his hair line, with shades of purple and black and blue, and even green in some areas.

Steve felt his stomach churn as Tony fell to his side with a gasp. He wanted to look away, but he pressed on, because there was _blood_ trailing down Peter’s face - and Steve didn’t know where it was coming from.

Steve moved his hand to Peter’s head and felt the matted curls there, and he almost pulled his hand back at the unnaturally sticky substance that was holding them down, but he persisted, feeling gently along the crown of Peter’s head - until Peter winced and sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

Steve withdrew his hand slightly and looked to Tony, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. Then, Steve slowly pushed himself to his feet so he could stand above Peter (who was openly crying now) and gently peeled away layers of hair-

Blood.

Too much blood.

His son’s- his son’s head was covered in-

Steve pulled his hands away and looked at them with terrified eyes, heart beating loud in his chest. They were covered in blood - in _Peter’s_ blood. It was dry and crusty and minimal, but still there.

Tony gasped suddenly and Steve turned to see him looking directly at his hands. Then, Tony’s head shot up to stare at Peter. He inched forward and placed a gentle hand on Peter’s cheek. Peter jumped, and Tony began to stroke a finger lightly across his skin. Peter leaned into it.

“What happened?” Tony whispered, voice pained, and Peter took a shuddered breath. Steve forced his attention up to Peter, so he wasn’t overcome by the sudden, horrid thoughts of _my son’s blood is on my hands my son’s blood my son’s blood my hands my hands my hands-_

“Peter.” Tony’s teeth were grit together and he moved himself closer to Peter, tilting his head to better look at Peter - but Peter’s eyes were still squeezed shut. “Who did this to you?”

Steve gently brought himself back to his knees, careful not to touch anything because his hands- his hands were covered in-

“They asked,” Peter whispered, tears streaming down his face. “They- they asked about you but I _wouldn’t tell them_ -”

“Who?” Steve asked desperately, his voice hoarse. “Who, Peter?”

Peter shook his head and opened his eyes, making eye contact first with Tony, then Steve. “I d-don’t know,” he sobbed, and Tony brought his right hand up to gently wipe at Peter’ tears. “They took me as I was w-walking home, and they put me in a v-van and they had this serum and my- and my powers, they didn’t _work_ -”

“Okay,” Tony interrupted in a whisper, eyes squinted to keep from crying. “Breathe, bimbo mio, _breathe_.”

Peter nodded shakily and took a deep breath.

“I didn’t say anything, please, I promise, I didn’t tell them _anything_.”

“Okay.” Steve moved forward with a reassuring smile, trying to hide his tears. “Of course, baby. We believe you.”

“And I tried to escape but then they- they did _this_ -” Peter tilted his head toward the left and Tony moved his hand quickly to support it. Steve could clearly see the worry in his expression. How large was the cut in Peter’s head? Was it still bleeding? Could rapid movement worsen it?

“And then, w-when I tried again on the second day, they- they-”

Peter was interrupted by his own sobs, and Steve’s heart tore in half. He widened his eyes in dismay as Peter held up his fingers to show- to show… missing fingernails, his fingertips coated in blood.

All Steve could do was stare, horrified. Peter sniffled and dropped his hands back down into his lap.

“But I escaped the third day.”

“How?” Tony had the courage to ask, looking up at Peter with tearful eyes.

Peter shook his head minutely and closed his eyes again.

“I think I killed them.”

He began to cry again, more severely, but… silently. His shoulders wracked with the sobs, but not a single sound escaped.

Steve moved forward and placed his hands atop Peter’s knees despite the blood because, damn it, his kid needed comforting.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Peter-”

“No,” Peter whispered, tiling his head forward. Tony moved to sit on the couch beside him and moved Peter gently so he was leaning against his side.

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve repeated, and he saw Tony nodding along with him. “It _is_ okay, because you were strong. You were _so_ strong, and _brave_ , and you found your way back to us. You’re home now, okay?”

Peter didn’t answer.

“Peter.” Steve shook Peter’s knees gently, and Peter opened his eyes so they were slits. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I- I didn’t want you to worry.”

Steve pushed himself from the floor as Tony whispered an, “ _Oh, Pete_ ,” and sat on Peter’s left side.

There was a trip to the Med Bay necessary in the immediate future, of course - but for now, Peter was sandwiched between Tony and Steve, between his parents, and he was safe. Peter cried, and Tony cried, and Steve cried, but they were _together_ , and that was all that mattered… until Steve and Tony found those men, that is.

Then, there would be hell to pay.


	6. “Maybe this will keep that big mouth of yours shut.”

All Tony wanted to do was check his emails. That was it. But suddenly, his heart was jumping into his throat when he saw his phone screen was _not_ his lock screenphoto of all the cars in his garage.

Instead, it was what looked like a video recording of a man in a ski mask.

“Tony Stark!” the man called, and Tony froze. Was this pre-recorded? Was the man hacking into his phone camera? What did he want?

Goodness knows Howard received too many calls like these when he was running the company, and they were almost always fake scares. Hoaxes. But this one was Tony’s first, and something seemed different. It was only when Tony looked in the background of the video that he figured out why.

“Peter.”

The name was more of a whisper, ripped involuntarily from his throat, because, while only half of Peter was visible, it was clear the shadowy figure was him. His head was lolled forward, and the one arm Tony could see seemed to be attached somehow to the arm of the chair he was sitting in. This bastard just needed to _move out of the fucking frame_ so Tony could properly see his kid.

The man chuckled, looking behind him. “Yes, I see you’ve caught on before the big reveal.” Okay. _Not_ a recording, then - a live stream. Tony fought to keep his expression neutral, which was hard, when his eyes kept trailing over to Peter’s unconscious form.

The man moved out of the frame, and Tony got a clear view of Peter. He was sitting in a wooden chair, wrists and ankles attached to it with rope, and his head was beginning to lift slightly. He was waking up.

Panic began to rise in Tony’s throat. However many times Howard had gotten these calls, there had _never_ been a hostage.

Tony kept his voice deathly calm, never taking his eyes off Peter. “How did you hack my systems?” _How did you get my kid?_ But Tony couldn’t ask that question, because that would indicate just how desperately he wanted Peter back, putting him in even more danger.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man laughed somewhere off screen. Tony scowled, slowly inching his hand toward the arc reactor on his chest. If the man couldn’t see him, he could activate his suit and be off before-

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Tony’s hand froze as the man came back into frame - but this time, he was holding something in his hand. He stepped toward Peter, whose head was now fully lifted and was turning groggily to inspect his surroundings.

Tony could identify the exact moment when he realized his predicament.

His back stiffened against the chair and his eyes widened, looking directly into the camera - directly at-

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat as Peter whispered his name. So, it was a two-way video, not just audio

Tony nodded his head slightly, covering up his worry, fear, and anxiety, all with a slight smile.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Pete,” he assured, and Peter’s features relaxed with such trust, such reliance on Tony, that it split Tony’s heart in two.

“Great. We’re all acquainted.” The man spoke again, and Tony’s eyes hardened. Peter turned his head to the side and looked at the man - _no_ , Tony realized, he was looking at what the man was holding.

Two seconds later, a gun was being leveled against Peter’s temple.

Tony clenched the phone tighter in his hands as Peter stiffened in his chair, eyes facing directly forward, directly at Tony - and Tony couldn’t let one bit of the worry he was feeling through, not one bit. He couldn’t let Peter know the sheer panic and terror he felt at seeing a fucking _gun_ pressed to his kid’s head-

“You okay, Pete?” he asked steadily, keeping his voice level. Peter nodded with a small smile. _Okay_ , Tony thought. _I’m doing fine with keeping my emotions in check-_ And then Peter opened his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m doing great, Mr. Stark. I guess this loser didn’t get the message that I don’t scare easy, huh?”

Tony’s eyebrows rose into his hairline and his eyes widened at the shit-eating grin on Peter’s face. The panic increased tenfold and Tony couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Kid, don’t-”

But it was too late, because the man was already pulling back the pistol and hitting it against Peter’s cheek.

Peter’s head snapped to the side and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily.

“Oh, didn’t _you_ get the memo?” Tony was sure his eyes looked manic as he stared at the masked man, Peter still catching his breath as he leaned over the arm rest of his chair. “It’s not you I’m trying to scare.”

Tony kept his eyes focused on Peter, heart beating fast, breath coming in short gasps. Slowly, very, _very_ slowly, Tony slid his right hand off of the phone and under the coffee table in front of him, where the panic button sat - but he froze when the man turned back toward the camera.

“It’s _Mr. Stark_.” He said the words in a mocking tone, and Tony felt his blood boil. Sure, Tony wasn’t particularly fond of the nickname, but Peter liked it, and that was all that mattered. This man, who Tony didn’t even know the name of, didn’t have the right to say it, and _especially_ not like that.

“Who are you?” Tony demanded, voice low. “What do you want?” He kept an eye focused on Peter as the boy brought himself to sit upright on the chair, smirking at the camera. Tony tried to shoot him a wide-eyed glare, tell him to _sit still until I get there_ , but the message didn’t seem to convey.

“Don’t you know, Mr. Stark?” The man turned back around to stare at Peter, and Tony brought the phone closer to his face in sheer, desperate panic.

“Pete, don’t talk-”

“He’s the terrible _Gun Man!_ Heroes tremble before him!”

The man took a step closer to Peter, and Tony saw him flinch slightly.

“Hey!” Tony shouted through the screen. “Don’t touch him! It’s _me_ you have a problem with. You touch him, and I won’t tell you anything.”

To Tony’s horror, the man got closer to Peter until he was standing directly above him, Peter staring back defiantly. Tony bypassed the fear crippling him and lunged for the panic button, quickly pressing it in morse code in alignment with the Avengers’ predetermined emergency codes - _3P_. Hostage situation involving Peter. The security cameras in the room should be turning on any second, and the team would use their access codes to see the situation - Tony hoped.

“Hey!” Tony shouted again when he saw the man was still standing above Peter. He lifted the gun and leveled it directly in front of Peter’s face. Despite his confident demeanor, even through the camera, Tony saw the fear in Peter’s eyes.

“You touch him, I tell you _nothing_ , you hear me?”

The man turned back to the camera, and Tony saw Peter’s shoulders sag with relief. His did the same.

The man smiled. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“I’ll give you anything. Just let him go.”

The man chuckled, and his eyes moved away from the screen. Tony shot his eyes to the security camera in the corner of the room and saw it was directed at him, the light having switched from red to green. Tony didn’t know who, but _someone_ was watching. He moved his hand so it was out of the frame of his phone camera and used sign language to spell _R-E-C-O-R-D-I-N-G. L-I-V-E._

He prayed whoever was watching got the message, and could do something to help.

The man laughed, his attention refocused on Tony. Tony brought his eyes back down to the screen with barely controlled rage.

“Who knew your intern was so special to you?” The man laughed, and Tony forced himself to bite his tongue. Peter wasn’t doing the same.

“Well, _you_ knew. Or else I wouldn’t be here, right? That’s kind of a dumb question.” Tony’s eyes widened in panic as the man turned back to Peter.

“Parker, shut up-” But Tony’s plea fell on deaf ears. To Tony’s horror, Peter winked at the camera and stared back up at the man.

“Oh, do you want recognition for coming up with this _genius_ plan? A trophy? Did daddy not give you enough attention-”

The man jumped towards Peter and reached a hand for his cheeks, squeezing them so Peter’s mouth formed an _o_. An animalistic scream tore itself from Tony’s throat as the man forced the barrel of the gun between Peter’s lips and lay his finger over the trigger.

“Maybe this will keep that big mouth of yours quiet.”

An insurmountable amount of panic rose in Tony’s chest, and he could barely form coherent words. All his scrambled mind knew was that there was a _gun_ in his kid’s mouth, and a madman was holding it there. At any minute, he could press the trigger.

“ _Fuck!_ Fuck, wait, stop, anything. Literally anything you want, just- just take the gun out of his mouth, please, he’s just a _kid_ -”

“ _Shut up!_ ”the man shouted, and Tony clamped his lips together, his heart jumping into his throat. He hurried to make eye contact with Peter, and the kid was staring back at him with wide eyes, _terrified_.

Tony shook his head slightly. _Don’t speak_. Finally, Peter seemed to get the message. He stayed silent, staring at Tony, begging for the man to save him - but Tony _couldn’t_ , and he didn’t even know if help was coming.

“Okay,” the man soothed, looking between Peter and Tony. “Now that we’re all nice and quiet, I am going to ask you, Stark, to draw me a diagram of the Jericho missile. Hold it up to the screen. Well, _ask_ is a light word. More like, do it…” he turned his eyes back to Peter, and Peter to him- “or I blow his brains out.”

Tony rested his phone in front of him and instantly reached for the notepad and pencil he kept on his coffee table, beginning to sketch. He knew in a heartbeat he would build a whole arsenal and hand it over to the enemy to keep Peter safe.

As Tony sketched, he flicked his eyes up to the camera, where the man’s attention was switching between him and Peter - Peter, whose wide eyes were losing their defiant shine, which was being replaced with tears.

“Please,” Tony begged, “please, take the gun from his mouth. I’m drawing up the diagram right now. You don’t need to do that.”

The man didn’t move. Peter looked to Tony, wide eyes desperate for reassurance, and Tony nodded slightly - gave a small, comforting smile.

“Please,” he repeated, continuing his sketch. “He’s just a kid. I know what you’re capable of, you don’t need to prove it. Just let him breathe.”

A moment later, Tony heard a gasp, and his eyes snapped up to the screen. The man had stepped away from Peter and was now back to holding the gun level with his head, which was something Tony never thought he’d be grateful to see. Peter’s head was leaning forward and he was breathing heavily, all previous confidence forgotten.

Tony sighed in relief, knowing the gun was at a respectable distance and Peter wouldn’t be making any more quips, and returned to his sketch.

He didn’t have time to finish it. A sudden _crash_ was heard from the other side of the call and a blur of red and black entered the screen. Tony actually laughed with relief at the sight of Natasha flipping into frame, taking out the man with ease as she did so, and stepping quickly to Peter. The two exchanged words, but Tony couldn’t hear them. He was leaning back on the couch and running his hands over his face, breathing deeply. If Tony knew where they were, he would be flying over there right now, but he didn’t, and so Natasha could handle it for now.

When Tony righted himself and looked back to the screen, Peter’s face was there, right up at the camera, and he was beaming, his smile somewhere between relieved and a shit-eating grin. Tony couldn’t help but smile back.

“I never lost face, huh, Mr. Stark?” he called, and Tony laughed, his nerves shot and emotions going haywire.

“You never do that again.” The smile on Tony’s face probably wasn’t sending the right message, but he couldn’t help himself. His kid was _safe_. They had gotten out of it okay. “You’re lucky Natasha found you.”

“Hacked your phone,” Natasha called from just outside of the frame. “Recognized the scene from a mission I worked a few years back.”

“How easy is it to do that?” Tony exclaimed, and Peter laughed. Tony refocused his attention on his smiling kid. “You come back to the tower _right. Now._ You’re grounded indefinitely for all those little stunts.”

Peter laughed, and the two just stared at each other in a state of relief and ecstasy. “But we’re okay, right?”

Tony nodded, face sobering into a soft smile. “We’re okay.”


	7. “You’re just like your father!” Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW alcoholism

Peter stomped into the tower, closely followed by Tony, his hands clenched in fists at his sides and his vision red. The silence of early morning (aka, 2am) was broken only by the sound of his footsteps echoing off the tile floor and his heavy breathing as he marched to the center of the entrance hall and whirled around to face Tony, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Tony closed the front door behind him and locked it before turning around, but not making eye contact with Peter.

“Kitchen” was all he said in a stern, level voice as he looked somewhere over Peter’s head. Peter grit his teeth, angled his chin up at Tony, turned, and followed his instruction (though he really didn’t want to), sitting down at the kitchen table in the seat closest to the doorway - purposely, as to put his back to Tony.

Tony moved so he was standing across the table from Peter, leaning against the counter top. His arms were crossed over his chest as his narrowed eyes stared down at Peter, calculating. Peter stared back, mirroring the position of his arms, expression defiant.

Tony eyed Peter’s position. “Uncross your arms.”

Peter tilted his head cockily. “No.”

Tony angled his head down so he was staring at Peter through extremely narrow eyes. “You can’t possibly be mad at me.”

“It was just a _party-”_

“With drugs, and alcohol,” Tony interrupted, and Peter rolled his eyes. Tony froze suddenly and cocked an eyebrow.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

Peter rolled his eyes again, with added emphasis. _Don’t you tell me what to do_.

Tony’s mouth fell open, and Peter smirked at the dumbfounded expression on his face.

“You’re lucky I found you, Parker.” Tony’s voice was raising in volume, and he was leaning as far forward as possible while still keeping his weight on the counter. “There was some intense stuff going on at that party-”

“Those were _other people_ doing that shit, _not_ me-”

“Don’t use that language in my house! Plus, you think they were just going to let you get away with a _no, thanks_?”

“ _Your_ house?” Peter repeated, voice rising as he placed his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. “Whatever happened to _This is your house now, Peter! Welcome home!_ ”

“That was _before_ you went to college parties at age 17!” Tony retorted, putting his weight forward until he was standing on his own feet.

“ _You_ did.”

“Yes, and I’m trying to keep you from making my same mistakes!”

Peter shook his head, smirking. “You just don’t like that you’re not in control. You don’t like that I don’t follow your instructions to a tee.”

“You’re on thin ice, Parker,” Tony threatened, voice quieting, while increasing in intensity.

Peter put his hands on his hips, smirking. “You just have a dominance complex.”

“Peter-”

“You’re mad you can’t control me.”

“What happened to you, Peter?” Tony shouted, finally losing his cool, and Peter shut his mouth, recrossing his arms. “Ever since May died-”

“Don’t bring her into this!”

“I _have_ to, because this _isn’t you_ -”

“I’ll be going to as many parties as I want, and you can’t stop me!”

“As long as you’re my son, living under my roof-”

“ _I’m not your son!_ ”

Whatever argument Tony had prepared came to a halt, his mouth hanging open as he glared at Peter. “Excuse me?”

Peter pointed an accusing finger at Tony. “The adoption means _nothing_. You took advantage of my insecure state after May-”

“That’s _not_ what happened.”

“Well, guess what? You’re not my dad. You never will be.”

“How _dare_ you, Parker-”

“Am I just a pity project to you? Is that all this is? A stunt for the press-”

“I’d be very careful with what you say next-”

“No! You’re going to listen to _me_ now!”

Tony licked his lips and crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter top with a _let’s see you try to explain yourself_ expression.

“You adopted me. You promised to care for me. Well, guess what? You’re taking away my fun-” Tony raised his eyebrows- “but that’s just the _tip_ of the iceberg. The first day I was here, you did that whole _what’s mine is yours_ spiel, but now it’s suddenly _your_ roof? You say you want me to be better than you, but you’re not letting me take the steps to get there!”

“When did I ever-”

“You talk about me like I’m your possession, like I’m not even human, like my opinion doesn’t even _matter!_ You’re just like your father!”

Tony’s eyes widened. He stiffened against the counter and his arms pressed in tighter. Whether it was a result of anger or if they were forming a shield-like barrier, Peter couldn’t tell. He stood, unwavering, glaring at Tony, breathing heavily. His words hung in the air between them, weighing down on both their consciences - but Peter wouldn’t take them back. He already said them, anyway. What else was there to lose?

Tony stood frozen, his eyes focused on Peter - but this time, he had so many defenses up, Peter couldn’t even guess what emotion he was feeling. He was perfectly stoic, inexpressive - a stone wall.

“Go to your room.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, refusing to move.

“ _Now_.”

Peter heard something in Tony’s voice, something real, something _raw_ breaking through the barriers he had put up, and Peter couldn’t stay. He had to leave before the dam broke.

Peter turned and stomped up the stairs into his room, putting extra emphasis with each step, slamming the door behind him with a loud _bang_.

He didn’t see Tony open the liquor cabinet, the one with dusty bottles that hadn’t been opened since Peter moved in eight months ago.

He didn’t see Tony take out the first bottle he saw and hold it in his hand, staring at his reflection in the glass.

He didn’t see Howard in the reflection, the way Tony did.

He didn’t see Tony almost drop the bottle in realization… then grip it tighter, and pour himself a glass.


	8. “You’re just like your father!” Pt. 2

Tony stood outside Peter’s closed door, debating what to do. He raised his fist and prepared to knock on the wood for the third time that afternoon, before, just like his previous two attempts, he dropped it back to his side with a sigh. Loud music from inside the room was pouring out into the hallway, someone intensely and angrily yelling about _friction_ , which informed Tony that Peter wasn’t over their argument from the night before.

Today was Saturday, so no school, but Peter hadn’t left his room all day, and it was now three in the afternoon. He’d been blasting music since eight that morning, refusing to speak to Tony, to even _hear_ him. The last time Tony had seen Peter was the night before as the two yelled at each other across the kitchen table, both insisting their side of the argument was right - but neither going about explaining in the proper way.

Tony was ready to apologize. Anger had been sitting heavy in his chest since the moment he began yelling the night before, and he just wanted to relieve himself of it. He wanted to restore his relationship with his kid - and the fact that he had broken his eight month sobriety streak, the fact that he had drank half a bottle last night after not touching a drop of alcohol since he had adopted Peter, just spurred him on, made him more desperate to make amends.

Tony took a deep breath before taking the plunge, raising his fist and knocking on the door.

The music turned up louder. Tony grit his teeth in anger, but he forced himself to relax a moment later by rolling his neck. Peter was a teenager. He felt his dad - his… adoptive guardian was ruining his life. That was just normal, and Tony would have to convince him otherwise.

“Peter, it’s me. Please open the door.” No response. Tony sighed and rested his shoulder against the doorframe, yelling into the wood. “I just want to talk to you. Please let me in.”

The music quieted, just enough for Tony to be heard if he spoke normally, and if Peter actually focused enough to hear him. The door didn’t open, and Tony figured this was how the conversation was going to go. He slid down against the doorframe and sat with his back against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him.

“I’m not going to apologize for bringing you home-”

“Oh, you’re not?”

Tony closed his eyes and took (what was supposed to be) a calming breath at Peter’s yelled response and tried again.

“I mean, I’m sorry I ruined your… _fun_.” Tony had to hold himself back from using air quotes, even if they were just for his own benefit. “I get that you feel like this is what you have to do, and maybe you think parties are your only source of fun. An act of rebellion, a way to feel alive-”

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Tony had to pause to let the truth behind that statement sink in. “I thought I knew you eight months ago, when you were just my little mentee, the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man from Queens. So when May…. When you came into my care, I thought I was ready to take responsibility, to be a… a _parent_.” Tony sighed and ran a hand down his face, shaking his head slightly. “I wasn’t.

“I know I’m not doing this right. I’m trying my best, but I’m not sure if it’s enough. I like to think May knew what she was doing when she gave me custody, but maybe she was wrong.” Tony shrugged, even though there was no one to see it, and looked to the side, down the empty hallway. These were the fears he had lived with for the past eight months, since Peter had moved into his house. Five months before that, when May had told him Peter was his if something happened to her, Tony thought he could handle it.

What he didn’t know was that there’s a big difference between mentoring a child and parenting one.

“Anyway, I’m saying… _way_ more than I need to be. The point is, legal guardian or not - I worry about you, kiddo. You’ve been… different. More distant. More _angry_. And even when you’re smiling, when you insist you’re fine, I see it in your eyes. You think life dealt you a shitty hand. You think it’s unfair, and you know what? I agree with you. You don’t deserve to go through all this, Peter. You really don’t.

“You’re young, and although you’ve been through… you’ve been through _so much_ , you’ve still held onto your innocence - until eight months ago. That’s when the final grains slipped away, and I’m… I’m scared. I’m _terrified_ for you, Pete, because I see myself in you, and that’s something I hoped I’d never say about my kid. Nevermind the fact that I’d be passing down Howard through this thing he called _parenting_ , but my drinking. My… my _anger_. My difficulty making connections with people. My ability to screw up over and over and over, to fail the people I love, to never get a chance for redemption.

“Every day, Peter, you seem to turn out more like me, and that terrifies me - but until now, every evidence of that has just been character traits, only in their developing phase, that could still be removed and cleared and purified if you spent a little less time with me, if I managed to get my shit together enough to be the person May wanted me to be. But when you didn’t come home last night, when I followed you and saw you at the bar with that older girl offering you a drink, with you reaching out to take it - Peter, you can’t come back from that. That would’ve been the point of no return. That would’ve been you becoming… _me_ , and I always wanted you to be better than me.”

Tony dropped his head. He took a breath, then another, then another. He hadn’t even realized the music had been shut off.

“If I could go back and… and _not_ drink, not take that first sip, not even _look_ at those bottles in the first place, Peter, I swear to you, I would, and I just wanted to save you from that. I don’t want my mistakes to manifest in you.”

Tony took a breath, shook his head, pushed himself to his feet. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders back.

“That’s… that’s all I wanted to say.”

Tony took a step toward the stairs, cursing himself as he went. He could never express his emotions like a normal person, could he? It was either way too much or nothing at all-

Tony froze when the door clicked open behind him. He didn’t turn, barely breathed, as the doorframe creaked under the weight of someone (Peter?) leaning on it. He felt eyes on his back, but he still didn’t say anything. He’d let Peter say the first words - because that’s why he opened the door in the first place, right? To say something?

“You’re not a bad parent, you know,” Peter said quietly, and Tony turned slowly, his hands still in his pockets. Peter was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, looking at the floor. “All that stuff you said… it’s not true. I mean, your drinking is under control. I haven’t seen you pick up a glass since I moved in, and even before that, when we had our lab days. And the whole thing about making connections - you’ve been let down before. You’re just trying to protect yourself… but you let _me_ in.” Peter shrugged, dropping his arms to let his hands nervously run along his jeans. “I like to think that’s a win.

“And you don’t… _screw up_. You don’t fail us. You don’t fail _anyone_. If I’m remembering correctly, you’ve saved the world more times than I can count on one hand. I’d consider that redemption.

“And you’ll _never_ be Howard. There’s not a single piece of him I recognize in you.”

Tony shook his head then, eyes beginning to water as he stared at the top of Peter’s head. He took a step closer, then another, until he was standing right in front of Peter - who looked up at him for one, fleeting second before throwing his gaze back down to the floor and shrugging. He crossed his arms again and sighed.

“May leaving me with you… that wasn’t the wrong decision, you know. And that’s not just for the fact that I literally have no one else.” Tony let out a watery laugh, and he saw Peter’s shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. “You’re doing great. Really. I want you to know that. This isn’t… _your_ fault, not at all. These are my choices. I just… want to have fun, and it seems to be working out for everybody else, these parties, and drinking, so I just….” Peter quieted his voice, as if he was ashamed of what he was saying. “I just wanted to try it.”

“And did you have fun?” Tony probed gently, keeping his voice free from any opinion, any bias, any judgement. He waited a moment before Peter looked up at him and shook his head.

“That’s not me.”

Tony smiled and reached out a hand to run it soothingly along Peter’s arm. “I know it’s not.”

“I want it to be. I want to be able to drink and dance and let loose and be someone else and _forget_ for a night. I want to be able to leave all this….” Peter weakly waved his arm out to gesture around them. “I want to leave my life, my _memories_ , behind for a night. I want to have _fun_. Everyone else seems to be able to.”

Tony lifted his other arm so he was holding Peter by both his shoulders. Peter leaned forward slightly, then continued to until his head was resting on Tony’s chest. Tony moved his right hand to begin rubbing circles into Peter’s back.

“You’re different, Peter. You’re _special_. You don’t need that. You don’t need to forget who you are to enjoy yourself. You’re Peter Parker, and you’re so unique and strong and _loved_. You’re yourself, and that’s okay. I’m… I’m proud to call you my kid.”

Peter sniffled against Tony’s chest, and his next words came out quieter, like he was crying, and trying not to let it show. He inched his hands up Tony’s back until he was hugging him, loosely, but no less affectionate.

“I’m… I’m happy to call you my dad.”

Tony smiled and rested his head atop Peter’s curls, closing his eyes and hugging him tighter.

“You know….” Peter’s words came out muffled, but Tony didn’t let up. He understood Peter just fine. “I don’t think it would be so bad, if I turned out like you.”

“No.” Tony shook his head determinedly. “You could be so much better.”

“I don’t think so.”

Though Tony disagreed, he didn’t argue. One thing he and Peter had in common was their stubbornness. He would just have to wait until Peter was grown up, had become every bit of what Tony believed him to be and more, and then would say, _I told you so_ \- but until then, he’d just hug Peter closer.

“I love you, kid.”

“I love you, too… Dad.”

 _Dad_. Tony’s heart seemed to swell with that word, because when Peter said it, it felt _right_. They were growing together, the two of them - Peter and Tony, Spider-Man and Iron Man. You could say they were evolving, leaning on each other for strength, both each other’s pillars of support, living through, with the help of, and for, each other.

Peter and Tony. Tony and Peter. The two went hand in hand. Friends, mentor and mentee, father and son - it didn’t matter what you called it (though Tony preferred the latter).

The two were united, always destined, fated, to find each other. That was just how things were. That was how they always would be, because they were family, and you can’t break up family.

Family is everlasting, family is forever, just like them. They’d be faced with obstacles. They’d be split, pulled apart, torn from each other, ripped from the other’s hands - but they’d always find their way back.

Tony and Peter will be Tony and Peter forever, and nothing can change that.


	9. “You’ve been out for a few months…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW major character death

There was a heavy feeling of dread in Tony’s chest as he entered the med bay and searched for the only occupied room, the one that had been occupied for the last four months. He walked down the hallway with a heavy feeling of foreboding as he passed row upon row of open doors, and soon came to the only one that was closed.

Tony took a deep breath outside of the door, forcing back tears. It didn’t matter if Peter was unconscious, if he had been for months with no sign of waking anytime soon (or at all, for that matter). Tony had to be strong for him, whether he was aware of it or not.

With one final, steadying breath, Tony pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

At first, Tony couldn’t even look at the bed. He closed the door behind him and moved to stand in front of his chair, the chair he had sat in every day since the accident. No one ever moved it. It was always sitting beside the bed, at around Peter’s waist, angled towards his head - and so, when Tony sat in it, he had no choice but to look down at his comatose kid.

No matter how many times Tony saw him, it never got any easier.

All scrapes and bruises from that fateful battle four months ago had healed, leaving behind Peter, who just looked as if he were asleep.

But people didn’t sleep with breathing tubes, a heart rate monitor, and needles sticking out of their hands.

Tony breathed a shaky sigh, dropping his elbows onto his knees so he could steeple his fingers in front of his mouth. He stared at Peter, the once-lively boy, who now had pale skin, closed eyes, and fluffy hair from when Tony had washed him yesterday. The only sound in the room was the steady noise of the heartbeat monitor, but that on its own brought Tony a new wave of sorrow - because he knew what had to be done.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony whispered, trying to smile - but the tears running down his face made it hard. “I’m back.” He reached out a shaking hand and rested it atop Peter’s, silently begging for some kind of response - a finger twitch, _something_ to keep him from doing what he was about to.

“Please,” he mouthed, tears falling heavier as he gripped Peter’s hand tighter. “Please, Peter, if you can hear me, move. Do _something_.”

Peter did nothing.

Tony closed his eyes against the tears and leaned his head back against the chair, choking back sobs. He had to be strong for Peter - but Peter wasn’t awake to see it. Or, he wouldn’t be for much longer.

“You’ve been out for a few months, Peter,” Tony whispered harshly, bringing his eyes back to the boy’s limp form. “Four months. 122 days. I need you to do something. Tell me you hear me. Tell me you’re _in there_.”

Peter said nothing.

“No,” Tony gasped, shaking his head and subconsciously clenching Peter’s hand tighter, more desperately. “Kid. Kid, I need you to wake up,” he begged, sobs getting louder. “I need- I _need_ you-”

Peter didn’t wake up.

Tony took a shaky breath and blinked back the tears, continuing to shake his head. He was doing it on autopilot now, trying to prevent what he knew had to happen - what was going to happen anyway.

“May stopped coming a month ago,” Tony continued, voice soft. “She- she had said it was time to move on, but I couldn’t let you go. You understand that, don’t you, Peter?”

Peter didn’t respond.

“Peter, I need you to prove her wrong.” Tony slid from the chair to kneel beside Peter’s bed and rested a hand over the kid’s chest, before pulling it back like he had been burnt. There was a heartbeat, but it was steady, perfect, so _unlike_ Peter’s, whose would erratically spike when Peter got excited at almost everything.

“I need you, Peter, _please_. Wake up. Do something. Say something. _Prove her wrong_.”

Peter didn’t prove May wrong.

“Please,” Tony sobbed, tears falling heavy and fast. His shoulders were shaking with the weight of his sobs. “For me, Peter, _please_ , because if- if you don’t-”

Peter did nothing.

Tony let his head fall against the bed, forehead touching Peter’s stomach - and he cried. He felt the tears soaking the bed sheets beneath him, he felt the mattress shaking with his cries, but he didn’t stop. He _couldn’t_.

Four months without responses. Four months without _Peter_.

This had gone on long enough, and there was only one option left. Everyone knew it. They had told Tony, and even though he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to do it, he knew what had to happen now.

“If you don’t answer,” Tony whispered, lifting his head just enough to view Peter’s face, “if you don’t respond right now, it means you’ve given up. And I didn’t choose you that day in Queens for you to _give up on me_ , Parker.”

Tony watched, and he waited, for _something_ to happen - but nothing did. He let his head fall back against the mattress, and he took a breath. Then another. Then another.

Finally, he righted his head and stared at Peter, tears drying on his face.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispered.

Peter didn’t say it back.

“You mean so much to me, and you’ve made me _so proud_.”

Peter didn’t respond.

“And I don’t know….” He paused, looked away, took a breath, looked back to Peter. “I don’t know how I’m going to go on without you.”

Peter didn’t give him an answer.

Tony laughed under his breath. “I don’t even know if I’m talking to _you_ right now, or if you’re already long gone-” his breath caught- “but I need you to know that.”

Tony took another moment, just one more moment. He looked at Peter, at his kid, at the way his chest rose and fell, his unnaturally pale cheeks, his curls that he always seemed to want to pat down - and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Though this was Peter’s body, it wasn’t him, not really. Peter had passed on long ago - Tony had just been too stubborn to notice. Now, though, he finally understood. He wouldn’t be killing Peter - he would be letting him go.

Tony stood, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. He closed his eyes and rested there for a minute, cherishing this moment for as long as he could.

Then, he stood upright, blinked back tears, and refocused his attention on Peter’s face. He reached his hands up to Peter’s breathing tubes, then cast one final glance at Peter’s closed eyelids.

“I love you.”

Tony pulled out Peter’s breathing tubes.

The heart monitor flat lined.

Tony cried.

Peter was dead.


	10. “I-I can’t see! I can’t see anything!”

Tony thought he was done with the Sokovia Accords. The Avengers had made amends, and you’d think, by them having saved the world a few times, the government would’ve forgiven them. Apparently not.

Peter and Tony were in the middle of a Disney marathon one Saturday night when a sudden _bang_ erupted from the door to the tower and Secretary Ross stormed in, accompanied by no less than six guards, all in full armour and equipped with heavy-looking guns. They surrounded the couch before Tony could call his suit to him, and all he could do was burst to his feet, effectively shielding Peter from view, with his hands in his pockets to give the impression of nonchalance.

Ross leaned to the side and cast a curious glance around Tony - a glance _toward_ Peter. Tony’s stomach churned at Ross’ hungry-looking eyes.

“What is this?” Tony exclaimed, trying (and failing) to keep his voice level. “You’re doing house calls, now?” Tony’s heart skipped a beat when Ross’ goons leveled their guns. He was worried - but not for himself, for _Peter_. “I thought we settled the accords. We’re done.”

“Yes, _we_ -” Ross wiggled a finger between him and Tony- “are done. But _we_ ….” Ross tried again to lean around Tony, tried to make eye contact with Peter, but Tony sidestepped, blocking his view. Tony heard an intake of breath from behind him and moved his right hand behind his back, out of sight from the guards. He felt Peter grab at his fingers and squeeze. Tony squeezed back.

“What do you want?” Tony’s voice was tough, no-nonsense. He didn’t like the way Ross’ eyes were constantly trying to look somewhere behind him. He didn’t like how the six big guns in the room weren’t pointing at _him_ , but at the person he had sworn to protect.

Ross straightened his back and set his expression, trying to assert dominance. Tony cocked an eyebrow. That wasn’t going to work with him.

“You failed to notify me about Spider-Man.” Ross clasped his hands behind his back and angled his chin up at Tony. “And what’s this I hear about you inviting him to fight against Captain America? You were in contact with a vigilante, and you failed to bring it with my attention? You signed a contract, Stark.”

Tony forced his expression to remain stoic at the mention of Peter’s alter-ego. “I’m not sure why you’re coming to me now. Spider-Man is in the wind. We parted ways after the battle. But who knows? Maybe he’ll be sending me a Christmas card.” Tony heard a chuckle from behind him, and the corner of his mouth twitched up.

Ross smirked, but his eyes remained stony. “Then why do I get the impression you’re not being completely honest with me?”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Thaddeus.” Tony shrugged. “Don’t know where he is.”

Ross raised an eyebrow. “Then do you perhaps know what his name is?”

Tony pursed his lips and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if in thought. Peter’s grip tightened on his fingers.

“Spider, I’d assume. He might respond to Mr. Man.”

Ross’ eyes narrowed. Tony stared back, unflinching.

“Enough games.” Ross raised a hand, palm up, directed at Peter. “Hand over the kid.”

This time, it was _Tony’s_ turn to squeeze _Peter’s_ hand. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ross sighed. Then, he gestured towards his guards at the same time Tony reached up for his arc reactor.

“You shoot, I fire back.” The words were out of Tony’s mouth before the guards could reach for their triggers, his fingers hovering just above the arc reactor. Any one of them moved and Tony would be calling the suit to him and blowing all seven of their asses to kingdom come.

Ross just smiled. “There’s no need for violence, Stark. Just give us Spider-Man and let us be on our way.”

“Over my dead body.”

Ross snapped his fingers and Tony immediately pressed down on his arc reactor. He released Peter’s fingers and reached his arms up to receive the gauntlets-

None came.

Ross just laughed, his guards now resting with their fingers on the triggers of their guns. “We locked up your suits, Stark. You didn’t think we would’ve come prepared?”

Tony scowled at him. “That’s illegal. That’s my property.”

“No, it’s the government’s. You signed a contract.” Ross rocked back on his heels, looking like he was enjoying this. “Now, hand over Spider-Man.”

A new voice spoke then, quieter and high-pitched and so innocent and naive, it made Tony’s heart skip a beat.

“Mr. Stark….”

Tony reached his arm behind him and waited for Peter to take hold. He didn’t. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll get you out of this-”

“Let me go.”

Tony’s head shot behind him to stare at Peter with wide eyes - Peter, who looked brave and strong and courageous as he looked around Tony at the guns, but Tony could see the fear behind his walls.

Tony looked back to Ross (who was now smirking), not wanting him out of his sight for long.

“Give me up, Mr. Stark,” Peter continued, his voice quivering - but Tony wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t spent so much time with the kid. “It’s okay. I don’t want them to- to hurt you-”

“No, kid, we’re not doing this. Stay behind me.”

Ross narrowed his eyes. “Tony, Peter clearly wants-”

“Don’t you say his name.”

Ross sighed and reached a hand up, gesturing to his guards. Tony’s heart skipped a beat and he stepped backward, closing Peter in - but he froze when he saw… they were putting their guns away?

Before Tony could react, the guards were reaching for him. Two reached for his arms, grabbing them roughly and pulling Tony forward (away from Peter). Tony fought fruitlessly to pull away from them.

“ _Peter_ ,” he tried to shout as he looked behind him - and his heart skipped a beat.  
Peter was moving to stand slowly from the couch, his arms raised in surrender. His eyes were carefully avoiding Tony, instead looking between the two guards who were approaching him, one with their gun raised, the other reaching for something on their belt.

“ _Peter!_ ” Tony’s screams got louder and he began kicking, two more guards stepping forward to restrain him. They grabbed his legs and lifted him, kicking and screaming, away from Peter, who still refused to meet his gaze. “Peter, you fight, kid, _fight._ You hear me?”

Peter looked worriedly to the guard approaching him with a gun. Then, he looked to the second guard, who was hold something new-

A syringe.

He was holding a fucking _syringe_ , that he was about to use on Tony’s kid.

Tony fought harder against his guards, but they held him fast. “Peter, fight this. _Fight it!_ ”

Tony watched tears spring forward in Peter’s eyes as the guard motioned for Peter’s arm - and he offered it. _Willingly._

“Pete- fuck, no, don’t- _don’t touch him!_ ” But the syringe was already being pushed into Peter’s arm.

Tony screamed - loud, guttural - and fought harder than ever against the guards, but their grip was relentless. He calmed just long enough to look at Peter, see the kid meet his eyes, whisper, _I’m sorry_ \- and then stiffen.

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. “Peter?” he called, the room suddenly quiet without his deafening screams. Peter didn’t respond. “ _Peter._ Pete- what the fuck did you do to him?”

Ross stepped into Tony’s vision and Tony thrashed, fighting as hard as he could to connect his fist with Ross’ face - but these guards were just _too fucking strong._

“That is none of your concern,” Ross stern voice answered.

“Yeah, it’s my concern. He’s my _kid._ ”

“ _It_ is government property now.”

Tony recoiled as if he’d been hit. “His name is Peter,” he spat through gritted teeth, struggling once more against the guards. They didn’t loosen their hold.

“It is a mutant. It doesn’t have a name.”

Tony began to quiver with rage. “What the- what the fuck do you mean, _mutant?_ ”

Tony was interrupted by a whimper, coming from behind Ross. His heart jumped into his throat

“Peter?” he called, his voice shaky. The whimpering only grew louder. “Peter? What is it, buddy?”

A slow, sly smile grew across Ross’ face as he stepped out of Tony’s vision. Tony only watched him for a minute, before his attention was directed to what was behind him. It was Peter… but his eyes looked like they had been glazed over.

“M… Mr. Stark?” Peter called out shakily, and the colour drained from Tony’s face. His vision momentarily blacked out.

“Yeah? Yeah, Peter, I’m here.” There was no response. Peter’s head turned, his eyes moved around the room, but they weren’t his natural colour. They weren’t a deep brown; they were a cloudy gray.

“Peter, you gotta talk to me, bud-”

“I- I can’t see,“ Peter cried, and tears began to fall down his face. “I can’t see anything!”

Tony’s blood ran cold.

Peter reached his hands up to scratch at his face. "No! Peter, don’t- don’t do that-” Tony turned his head to face Ross, who was just smiling at the atrocity he had created. “Please,” he begged. “Stop him, please, he’s going to hurt himself-”

Ross smiled like those were the best words he could’ve heard. “You heard the man.”

Tony knew he had made a mistake as soon as the guard with the syringe dropped it and stepped forward. He grabbed Peter’s hands and roughly pulled them behind his back. Peter screeched at the sudden unwelcome contact, but the guard ignored it and slapped a length of thick metal around Peter’s wrists, holding them together.

Tony could only stare helplessly as the guard began to shove Peter forward, out of the room.

“Mr. Stark!” he called, head searching wildly - and Tony’s heart broke into a million pieces.

“Pete!” he yelled, and Peter’s head swiveled to locate the sound. He was surprisingly close - but his gaze was just missing Tony’s face. “Peter, I’ll find you,” Tony called, and Peter nodded, completely trusting, already being shoved away by the guard. He was almost out of sight. “I swear, Peter, I _will_ find you!”

And just like that, Peter was gone.

Tony stared after the empty doorway which Peter had just left, his breathing so heavy, his entire body was shaking with the shuddering breaths. He gave one, final, feeble attempt to break out of the guards’ hold, but they didn’t release him. Their grips barely even loosened.

Ross stepped in front of Tony and stared down at him with an analytical expression. Tony glared back, body trembling with anger.

“Give me back my kid.”

“Government’s property, Stark,” Ross answered, and Tony shuddered hearing Peter referred to as - as _property_ , as nothing more than the kind, innocent soul Tony knew him to be. “And to think, if you had just handed him over in the first place, this could’ve been done in a much more civilized manner.”

Ross stared at him for a few more moments before sighing and turning away.  
“Cuff him.” He waved behind him as if Tony wasn’t even worth his time.

Tony didn’t move his eyes from Ross’ back, unaffected as one of the guards released his hold on him. Tony felt a pair of standardized handcuffs make their way around his wrists, but he wasn’t concerned. He knew he could easily get out of them-

“Now, I know you have your ways to get out of these,” Ross said, turning back to Tony. “They’re just so you don’t follow us. I’d hate to have to subdue you, too.”

Before Tony could register what was happening, the hands were letting go of him and he fell back onto the cold floor, head hitting the tiles with a dull thud. His vision momentarily blurred and he blinked rapidly, trying to get the clouds to clear. When they did, he fought to sit up, hands held securely behind him, and looked around hastily - but Ross and all his guards had gone They had left as quickly as they had come, and they had taken Peter with them.

Tony was all alone.


	11. “I trusted you to keep them safe, and you couldn’t even do that?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW fever dreams, seeing dead people

Around the one week mark aboard the Benatar, the visions started appearing.

It was… small stuff, at first. Tony thought Nebula was looking at him when her head was really turned the other way. His vision began swimming. That sort of stuff. It was only on the ninth day when things started to get seriously wrong, because Tony could’ve _sworn_ he saw Pepper sitting across from him at the table.

“Pep?”

He hadn’t realized he had even said anything until he was blinking away the tears and Nebula was putting her hand on his shoulder, asking if he was okay.

He had grown used to seeing Pepper. After that first vision, she never left. Sometimes she was replacing Nebula. At other times, she was standing in the corners of the room while Nebula and Tony were working in the middle, smiling softly at him. As much as he had wanted to see her face before now… this wasn’t the way he wanted to see it.

It was on the thirteenth day when things started to get weird.

The Avengers had began to appear, every single one, and Tony believed they were real, every single time without fail.

It didn’t matter that Tony hadn’t seen Rhodes for almost two weeks and suddenly the man was pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. It didn’t matter that Steve had been Tony’s enemy for almost a year now as he patted Tony on the shoulder and asked if he was okay. It didn’t matter that Natasha had never been to space and now she was on the Benatar, smiling at Tony with her teasing smirk.

It didn’t matter that Tony kept getting these visions, over and over and over, because he believed them, every single time. And every single time, they reduced him to tears, wishing and desperately hoping for things he might never see again - and things that you couldn’t have, you wanted the most.

With every passing day, new people appeared, and Tony was growing used to it. He couldn’t say he didn’t miss the people he saw - he couldn’t say the ache in his heart disappeared whenever his own memories returned to taunt him - but he could say he was no longer surprised.

That was, until the seventeenth day.

When the first words Tony heard when waking up that morning were “ _Mr. Stark_ ,” he was already being reduced to tears.

Tony staggered to his feet and his head spun, his vision swam, but he fought through it. He fought through the dry feeling in his mouth that came from thirst, and he fought through the hunger pains, because he _needed_ to see Peter - even if Peter was in a dream. Even if Peter was fake.

But his voice sure as heck sounded real, and Tony couldn’t take his chances.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice repeated, and Tony spun on his heel to stare behind him.

He felt like throwing up the little sustenance he had in his stomach from last night’s “meal”.

Peter was there, and he looked so real, so _tangible_ , and Tony reached a hand out to touch him. Peter’s hand raised in response - but….

Tony’s heart dropped to his shoes.

“ _No_.” The strangled word was ripped from his throat, because, as Tony watched, Peter’s hand was being reduced to ash.

“I don’t feel so good….” Peter looked to his rapidly fading hands, then up at Tony, begging - but he didn’t stumble forward. He couldn’t move, and Tony couldn’t go to him. He couldn’t- shit, he couldn’t move his feet-

The room around them began to change. The colour inverted to orange. Titan’s hills rose out of the ground and loomed over Tony and Peter once more, and a heavy sense of foreboding grabbed Tony’s heart and _squeezed_ \- but could it even be called that? Could it be called foreboding if Tony already knew what was going to happen, how this horror would end?

“Mr. Stark.” Peter’s entire arm was dusting now, and his feet began to fade, too. Tony watched in horror as Peter’s eyes grew hard, barely sparing a glance to the dust rising up his legs. “Mr. Stark, you let me _die_.”

Tony staggered backward as if he’d been hit. “Pete- Peter, no, I _didn’t_ , I fought for you, I _swear_ -”

“It wasn’t enough.” The dust had reached Peter’s waist now. All that was left of his limbs were flakes, quickly disappearing - and still, his hardened expression didn’t change. “It has neverbeen enough. You will _never_ do enough. Everyone you love will die. Everyone you love _has_ died.”

Tears sprung to Tony’s eyes and he reached his arms out in front of him, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He couldn’t grab Peter, and now his kid was going to die in front of him, _again_ , and he could do _nothing_ about it-

“And you’re the cause of it.”

Tony watched as the dust reached Peter’s neck. Pieces of his chin and cheeks began to chip away until all Tony was left with were Peter’s dark, unforgiving eyes.

“Peter- Peter, please, I don’t- I _can’t_ -”

“You couldn’t save me.”

And with that Peter was gone, dusted _again_.

The orange twinge of Titan faded until Tony was collapsing on the floor of the ship, clutching his hands over his mouth, thinking back to- to nearly three weeks ago when this had _first_ happened, and now it was happening _again_. Tony could feel the flakes, could feel _Peter’s ashes_ as he sobbed into his fists and-

And Nebula was by his side again, gentle fingers on his back, rooting him to the present. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t fill the quiet, but the memory still remained. Nothing could take that from him. Nothing could erase it from his mind.

The visions had a pattern - or, at least Tony thought they did. He _thought_ they were all people he loved, people that he desperately wanted to see again; or at least people that he _knew_ , that he had seen alive.

But on the nineteenth day, a man was materializing in front of Tony. Tony looked up suddenly as a woman appeared beside him, holding his hand, and a third man behind them.

Tony staggered to his feet and looked wildly between them, waiting for them to say something, _do_ something. He… he _did_ remember them, but from where-

It hit Tony like a stack of bricks.

He hadn’t seen them - at least, not alive. He’d only ever seen pictures in Peter’s apartment.

Standing in front of him, wearing the exact same clothes as they had been in the photos, were Richard, Mary, and Benjamin Parker.

Tony stared at them with wide eyes, his hands trembling at his sides (they _never_ did that) and waited for them to speak.

None did.

He stared, and he waited, but they stood frozen, perfectly still… until they weren’t anymore.

Until they started bleeding.

First it was Richard and Mary, blood sprouting from their heads and beginning to drip down down down, covering their face in _red_ \- but before Tony could react, before he could step back or gasp or cover his mouth in horror, Ben was bleeding, too, blood that shone brighter and more horribly red than the others sprouting from what looked like a bullet wound in his chest.

Tony reached forward, tried to apply pressure to the wounds, tried to stop the bleeding, tried to do _something_ , because Peter’s dad, his mom, his uncle were all bleeding out in front of him and he couldn’t let-

Before he could, a new presence, a fourth one, was felt from behind him, and he whirled around - to find himself staring into the face of May Parker.

She glared at him with her hands on her hips, and Tony flinched under her scrutinizing gaze.

“I trusted you to keep them safe,” she muttered, her voice controlled - but then, she started yelling. “ _And you couldn’t even do that?_ ”

May stepped forward and Tony stumbled backwards, but not fast enough. May was jutting a finger against his chest, bringing her face close to his trembling one.

“Iron Man. The great Iron Man. Peter idolized you. Ben talked about you all the time, and for _what?_ ”

Tony collapsed backward, his legs weak and trembling beneath him. May stood above him and glowered down at the man cowering on the floor.

“You couldn’t save them. You let them _die_.”

May stepped forward. Richard, Mary, and Ben were behind her, the blood dripping more intensely. It was glowing brighter, covering the floor, and everything was red, and Peter’s ashes were back on his hands, and the blood was beginning to reach him, and Peter was screaming _Mr. Stark I’m sorry Mr Stark I don’t want to go Mr. Stark you let me die_ and the blood was enveloping him, covering every inch of his skin, climbing up, up, up-

It all faded away at once. The Parkers faded. The blood seeped into the ground.

The vision had ended. Tony was alone, crying on the floor, hearing the echoes of _Mr. Stark_ calling after him - as he would for days to come.


	12. “You can’t sleep yet, kid, I need you to stay awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW non-consensual drugging

Tony stepped back to Peter’s side as he returned from the bar, Shirley Temple in hand. He held it out for Peter to take, but the boy was too focused on the crowd around them filled with scientists, celebrities, and superheroes alike. Tony just chuckled at the look of awe on Peter’s face as he set the drink down on the small, circular standing tables which were scattered at intervals around the party.

Peter looked down when he heard the sound of glass setting down on the tabletop and picked up the drink with a shaky smile in Tony’s direction before beginning to slurp it down greedily through a pink straw.

“Whoa there, kiddie.” Tony wrapped his hand around Peter’s and slid the drink out from beneath it, setting it back down on the table. “You don’t have to drink it all at once. I’m not gonna take it away from you.”

Peter pulled at the collar of his white button-down as his eyes searched the room once more. He barely let out a quiet chuckle, and Tony noticed the bead of sweat making its way down his forehead.

“Hey. Pete.” Peter’s eyes snapped up to Tony as the older man lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, okay? I get you’re nervous, but there’s no reason to be. I host parties like this all the time. Most people just RSVP _yes_ without even checking the reason for it.”

Though Tony was trying to reassure Peter, he knew his words were false. Everyone was very well aware this party was for Tony to introduce Peter as the heir to Stark Industries, and as this was the first time Tony and Peter were being seen together in public, well, it was a _huge_ deal. The name _Peter Parker_ would be on every news channel and newspaper the following morning, or even by the end of the night.

Peter gently took his glass back from Tony, smiling sheepishly. “They’re all looking at me.”

Tony’s eyes grew serious and he took a step closer to Peter, placing his second hand on Peter’s opposite shoulder. “No one bothered you, right? If they do, you tell me, or find Happy. He’ll get men on you in two seconds flat if anyone makes any sort of movement in your direction-”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter laughed and took a step back, out of Tony’s grip. “Nothing happened. I’m _fine_.” He took another sip of his drink, then looked out to the sea of people, all of them laughing and conversing in their own worlds - one that, Tony knew, Peter wasn’t apart of, one that he didn’t understand . At least, not yet.

“I’m just… not used to being in the limelight.”

Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulled him closer against his side. Peter leaned against him ever slightly, taking another sip of his drink, as the two of them looked at the crowd together.

“You’ll get there,” Tony muttered, and he rubbed Peter’s shoulder gently. “I know you will. You’re Peter Parker. Is there anything you can’t handle?”

Peter’s laugh was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat to Tony’s left. He turned slightly but kept his arm where it was, so he was holding Peter slightly behind him. He had been protective of Peter that whole night, but something still felt wrong. Maybe it was that conversation the two had just shared. Either way, Tony wasn’t letting Peter out of his sight… but he immediately relaxed when he saw it was only Happy, his hand falling limp around Peter’s shoulders.

“Hey, Hap, just talking about you.”

The corner of Happy’s mouth twitched up and he cast a distrusting glance toward Peter.

“Perimeter’s safe. I’m about to do another sweep.”

Tony cocked his head as he stared quizzically at Happy, eyes squinted. He felt Peter step out of his grasp, and Tony didn’t blame him. Happy was going a _little_ overboard, and Tony would step away, too, if he could.

“Yeah, uh….” Tony shrugged, gave Happy a thumbs up. “You do that.”

Happy nodded once, looking _way_ too official, before looking somewhere behind Tony. “Hey, where’s the kid going?”

“What do you mean? He’s right-” Tony froze, looking suddenly to his right, where Peter… _used_ to be. Now, though, he was hurrying through the crowd, cup in hand, sliding between their groups and heading somewhere to the back of the room.

Tony stepped away from Happy without a second thought, chasing after Peter, the white of his shirt seeming to glow in the dullness of the crowd around him. Tony shoved through the crowd, fighting his way to Peter, who always seemed to be just out of reach weaving in and out between the array of tuxedos and swirling dresses until he finally turned a corner and disappeared.

People tried to greet Tony as he passed - or maybe they were shouts of indignation at Tony shoving past them. He couldn’t tell. It was just noise in the background as he chased Peter around the corner into a quiet, empty hallway-

Tony cursed as he almost tripped over his feet in his haste to stop, gripping the wall to his right for support.

Because Peter was in the hallway, alright - but he was collapsed, face first, on the floor.

“ _Peter!_ ” Tony stumbled to Peter’s side, kneeling in broken glass and the remains of Shirley Temple as he gently wrapped his arms around Peter and rolled him onto his back.

Peter’s eyes were fluttering, constantly switching between open and closed as he stared somewhere above Tony’s head. His face was paling by the second and his mouth was falling open and shut, trying to find words - but not seeming to be able to.

“Peter. _Shit_.” Peter’s eyes lolled to the side to meet Tony’s, and his lips formed a faint, crooked smile. “Yeah. Hey, buddy.”

“Mis’r S’ark.” Peter’s smile grew - and then, his head rolled back.

“No, no, Peter.” Tony reached a quick hand to stabilize Peter’s head and hold it steady. “No, bud, you gotta stay focused on me, okay? Listen to my voice. I’m right here.”

Peter’s eyes found Tony’s again and he blinked sluggishly. Tony’s stomach flipped, but he forced himself to calm. Peter needed him right now.

“Can you tell me what happened, Peter? Did anyone talk to you? Get close to you?”

“‘M… sleepy, Mis’r S’ark. So, so sleepy….”

Peter’s head lolled back again, his eyes looking somewhere above Tony’s head, and Tony slapped his cheek. Peter blinked a few times and refocused his attention on Tony.

“I know, kid, I know, but you can’t sleep yet. I need you to stay awake.” Tony forced his voice to stay calm, to not express the panic he was feeling. Whatever happened to Peter, it could be fixed, right? _Right?_ “Why did you come into this hallway, Peter?” _Why’d you leave my side?_

Peter’s brow furrowed, and his words came out slurred, confused. “Bathroom… I think. Felt… sick.”

 _Sick_. Why would Peter feel sick? Tony looked around, vision blurring from the speed at which he was turning his head and the pure _panic_ coursing through his veins. He couldn’t see anything that would make Peter feel sick and make him _collapse_ -

Then, his eyes landed on the Shirley Temple which was currently absorbing into his dress pants.

“ _Crap_.” Tony let go of Peter’s face to fish for his phone in his pockets. He barely spared a glance to the screen as he pressed one of three numbers in his contacts (he only saved those that were important) and squeezed it between his ear and his shoulder, returning his hand to Peter’s face just in time for the kid’s eyes to flutter closed again. Tony frowned and slapped his cheek. Peter’s eyes flickered open long enough for him to glare at Tony and groan.

“Hel-”

“ _Hogan_.” Tony didn’t even wait for him to finish the greeting. “Where did you go?”

“I told you, securing the perimeter! What’s wrong?”

“The kid’s knocked out.”

The line went silent - but only for a moment.

“I’ll be right there.”

Tony dropped his shoulder and let his phone fall forgotten to the floor, his attention focused solely on Peter - whose eyes were beginning to close again.

Tony lifted Peter slightly and shook him, eliciting a groan from the kid.

“ _Peter_.” Tony leaned down and yelled in Peter’s ear. The kid flinched, but that was the least of Tony’s worries right now. “You need to keep your eyes open for me, okay? You need to stay awake. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Peter frowned up at Tony, but answered anyway.

“Stomach… hurts. And head. And… tired, so….”

“ _Peter!_ ”

“S’loud!”

Happy suddenly appeared at Tony’s side, looking down at Peter with a creased brow. Where Tony was panicked, Happy was the epitome of calm.

“What happened?”

“I-I don’t _know_ ,” Tony cried hopelessly, not removing his eyes from the kid. “Might’ve been his drink. He said his stomach hurts-”

Peter hummed in agreement.

“Good, kid, good,” Tony praised quickly. “Stay awake. Focus on my words.”

“Call 911.”

When Tony looked up to answer Happy, he was already gone.

Tony reached for his phone and dialed 911, putting it on speaker and dropping it to the side. He froze when he looked back at Peter, and saw his eyes were closed.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My kid, he’s passed out. I think there was something in his drink.”

“Okay, Sir, stay calm. What’s your location?”

Tony wanted to shout, _Don’t fucking tell me to stay calm_ , but he forced himself to swallow his anger and answer their questions.

\- - -

Happy stormed through the crowd, not paying any attention to the buzz of the guests wondering why their host had just run out - but no one wanted to follow him. No one wanted to see if he was okay. Typical.

Happy ignored them all and headed straight for the bar. The bartender looked up at him with wide eyes when he approached.

“Can I help-”

Happy was grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him against the counter before he could finish his question.

“Tony Stark ordered a Shirley Temple. What did you do to it?”

“I-I didn’t do anything to-”

Happy lifted the man off the counter and slammed him back down, anger growing with every word out of the liar’s mouth.

“Hey, it- it wasn’t me! There was a man sitting here and he was- was leaning over the counter as I was making it but I didn’t see him _do_ anything- Maybe when my back was turned-”

“And where is this man now?”

The bartender lifted a shaking finger to point across the room, where a man was just leaving, going unnoticed by the buzzing crowd.

Happy let go of the bartender’s shirt without a glance back, and he fell off the counter with a grunt. “Hand yourself in to the cops.”

\- - -

The offender was left with a bruise on his right temple when the cops found him.

\- - -

Peter woke in a hospital bed two hours later, Tony sitting worriedly at his side, Happy guarding the door with a smug, satisfied expression. Peter looked between the men and tried to clear his throat, but he almost gagged at the scratchy feeling and the taste of bile.

Tony looked up from where his head was resting in his hands, eyes wide. His tie was untied and hanging wrinkled around his neck as he leapt forward and grabbed Peter’s hand in his own.

“Wha-” Peter tried to speak, tried to force the words out, but he barely made a squeak.

Tony shushed him soothingly, running a thumb over the back of his hand. “Don’t try to speak, Pete, that’s alright. You had to get your stomach pumped.” Tony reached to the side of the bed and picked up a glass of water with a straw (a yellow one, Tony ensured - _not_ pink) from the table, gently holding it up to Peter’s lips. Peter took a slow sip.

“Your drink was poisoned,” Tony explained softly, watching Peter with sympathetic, concerned eyes. “Happy took care of the guy who did it.” Peter thought he saw Happy’s lips twitch up from the doorway. Tony sighed, shaking his head slightly and looking down at the bed. “First time in public, first time at my side….”

Peter shook his head and leaned away from the straw. Tony lowered the glass to rest on the mattress. “Not your fault.” The words were quiet, scratchy, and Peter pursed his lips like they formed a bad taste in his mouth. All Tony could do with smile and offer the glass again.

“I’m sorry, Pete.” Tony pushed the hair out of Peter’s face with a gentle hand as he drank. “If I didn’t host that stupid party….”

“Mm-mm.” Peter shook his head and pushed the glass away. He kept his hand on Tony’s. “Not. Your. Fault.”

He forced the words out as loud as he could and winced afterward. Tony just chuckled and offered him the glass again, but Peter shook his head and Tony set it back down on the side table.

“Okay, Pete, alright.”

Peter smiled, contented with himself, and leaned back against the headboard, sighing deeply.

“N’more parties,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Tony didn’t know if that meant the conversation was over, or if he was just too tired to continue it, but he chuckled anyway, gently pulling the sheets higher on Peter’s body.

“No more parties,” he agreed with a soft smile, leaning back in his chair and watching Peter’s peacefully resting face.


	13. “I told you I had a weak heart…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bio!Dad Tony, Iron Man 2 compliant

Peter clung to Uncle Rhodey’s hand as he led the seven-year-old into the Malibu mansion. Uncle’s grip was a little tight, but Peter just took it as an extra challenge, hopping along and using his arm as a swing.

“Not now, Peter.” Uncle Rhodey’s voice was tough and a little bit rude, but Peter didn’t mind. Sometimes Uncle was a bit upset, but that was okay, because he always took Peter out for ice cream after and said sorry, even though he usually said it was Daddy’s fault.

Uncle held the door open for Peter and followed him inside, still holding tightly to his hand. Peter saw two women on the couch when he walked in. One was Auntie Pepper, and one was Daddy’s new friend, Natalie. She was pretty and a little scary, but also really cool. Peter wanted to be her when he grew up.

“Where is he?” Uncle asked, and the two women turned around.

Natalie said, “He doesn’t want to be disturbed” at the same time Auntie Pepper said “He’s downstairs.” Peter looked up at Uncle for confirmation, but he was already walking toward the hallway leading to Daddy’s special office, and Peter found himself trotting along.

“Um, Miss Natalie said he doesn’t want to be dis- disturb-ded-”

“Disturbed,” Uncle supplied without looking down to Peter. “It means he doesn’t want to be bothered, but we’re gonna bother him anyway.”

“Like a prank?”

Uncle looked down at Peter with a small smile. “Yeah. Like a prank.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Uncle reached for the keypad to open the door, but Peter tugged on his hand. “Can I do it?”

Uncle smiled and reached down to pick Peter up.

“Alright, hit 5… 2… 6. Great. Now swipe this….” Peter did as he was told and the door clicked open. Peter kicked happily at the sight of the back of his Daddy’s head and the blue floating screens in front of him. Uncle put Peter down, gave him a high five, and Peter went running into the workshop.

“Daddy!” He ran up to the side of the car Daddy was sitting in. Daddy turned to him with a wide smile. He looked a bit… different, but his smile was as wide as any time Peter had seen him as he bent down and picked Peter up into his arms.

“Hey, Petey, d’you miss me? How was your weekend with Uncle Rhodey?”

“It was _great_. He bought me ice cream!”

“Chocolate with rainbow sprinkles?”

Peter giggled and nodded, kicking his legs against Daddy’s tummy.

“I saw you in the race car,” Peter squealed. “You were so cool! Almost as cool as Miss Natalie!”

“Tony.” Daddy stuck his tongue out at Peter when he heard Uncle’s voice. Peter laughed. “You gotta get upstairs and get on top of this situation right now.”

Daddy sighed and his eyes closed for a second. Peter pouted and tilted his head, staring at Daddy in concern as he breathed deeply. Daddy _never_ looked this upset.

Daddy moved Peter to the seat beside him as Uncle continued to talk, but Peter was barely listening because Daddy… Daddy didn’t look good.

Uncle stepped forward and put a hand on Daddy’s shoulder. “Are you listening to me? Are you okay?”

Daddy looked up at Uncle. “Let’s go.”

Then, he got out of the car… and _fell_.

“ _Daddy!_ ” Peter cried as he climbed over the seat to where Tony had fallen. Uncle moved to Daddy’s side and tried to pick him up.

“Peter, go upstairs,” Uncle tried to say without looking at Peter, but Peter shook his head.

“No, what’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Don’t worry, Petey.” Tony looked at Peter over his shoulder and gave him a small smile, but he almost fell again. “Yeah, I… should get to my desk.”

Uncle grabbed Daddy and helped him walk to his desk, and Peter hopped out of the car and chased after them, little legs moving as fast as they could to get to Daddy. He ran up beside them and tried to grab onto Daddy’s arm. Daddy’s fingers twitched, but Uncle pulled him away and helped him to his chair.

“Peter, upstairs, _now_. I promise you can talk to your dad later.”

“No.” Peter shook his head and tried to climb on to Daddy’s legs as he sat in his chair, but Uncle picked him up and walked him to the other side of the room.

“ _No!_ ” Peter screamed, but Uncle didn’t listen, dropping him beside the glass door and walking back to Tony’s side. “I wanna see my Daddy!”

“Stay… stay there, Pete,” Tony called, smiling tiredly in Peter’s direction, and Peter stopped screaming, instead choosing to watch from afar. “Rhodey. Cigar box.”

Uncle followed Daddy’s instructions and opened the wooden box. Peter watched with wide eyes as he took the light out of Daddy’s chest , then took something out of the box and put it inside the light. Then he handed the light back to Daddy and he put it back in his chest with a groan. Peter’s eyes widened.

Daddy looked up at Peter and smiled.

“Alright, Petey-Pie, get over here.”

Peter didn’t wait for a moment before running over to Daddy and jumping into his arms, crying.

“Shh, alright, I’m ok, Pete. Everything’s okay, don’t worry.”

“Uncle Rhodey was mean to me.”

Daddy put a hand atop Peter’s hair and shook his head, laughing quietly.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Petey-Pie. Here. Look.”

Daddy pulled Peter away from his shoulder gently and turned him to where Uncle was kneeling beside them, staring at him and smiling gently.

“No.” Peter tried to turn his head into Daddy’s shoulder, but Uncle tapped Peter’s arm gently and he looked back up.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I had to help your dad.”

“That was scary.”

“Yeah, it was, but he’s fine now.”

Daddy pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “See, Petey, I told you I had a weak heart, but everything’s okay now, because Uncle Rhodey helped me.”

Peter looked back to Uncle with a slight frown. “I forgive you.”

Uncle smiled and tapped Peter’s cheek before standing up, causing him to giggle. “Thanks, Pete.”

Uncle looked to Daddy and said something, but Daddy just shook his head and mouthed, “ _Later._ ” Uncle walked out, looking mad, but Peter didn’t care, because Daddy was turning him around on his knees to smile and brush some hair out of Peter’s face.

“I didn’t know the light came out of your chest,” Peter noted, tapping his finger against the metal. Daddy chuckled and grabbed Peter’s hand in his own.

“Aw, is that the only reason why you hang out with me, Petey? For the light?”

Peter giggled and tried to push himself to stand up on Daddy’s legs. Daddy helped him, grabbing his hands and pulling him up until Peter was hugging him tight.

“Of course not, Daddy. I hang out with you because I love you, because you’re my Daddy!”

Daddy placed a kiss on Peter’s head and chuckled, wrapping his arms around Peter and squeezing. Peter laughed.

“And I love you, because you’re my Petey.”


	14. Peter learns he can’t save everyone

Tony watched Peter open his eyes and blink up at the Med Bay ceiling - for the fifth time in two hours. The doctors had told Tony Peter would be sleeping a lot. It was a sign of the pain medication, among other things - but Tony hadn’t had to worry about those other things yet. Peter was never awake for longer than three minutes to do anything other than ask the same questions - which he proceeded to do.

Tony rested his elbow on his knee and leaned his head against his hand as Peter’s bleary eyes blinked their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” Tony greeted, smiling slightly - but only as a sign of comfort. It wasn’t like he wasn’t happy to see Peter, and he wasn’t bored, per se. No moment with Peter was a dull moment, so he couldn’t possibly be bored. He just didn’t want to have to answer those repetitive questions again. Maybe he could write the answers down, put the sheet in Peter’s hand for the next time he woke up. Go grab himself a coffee.

Tony smiled at the idea, not realizing he had missed the first question. He answered anyway.

“You’re in the Med Bay,” he muttered, half-asleep. The words were coming on autopilot now. “It’s about eight in the evening. You decided you could handle a full, experienced gang. Twelve grown men with crowbars. Spoiler alert: you couldn’t.”

Peter nodded and dragged his eyes back to the ceiling. Tony had the next answer ready before Peter even asked the question.

“Did they get away?” Peter’s words were slurred, syllables jumbled. Pain medication taking its toll.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find ‘em.” And Tony was fully prepared to, as soon as he got off babysitting duty.

“What ‘bout the girl?”

Tony’s eyes flew open. He lifted his head off his hand to stare at Peter, eyes narrowed. This question hadn’t been asked before.

“What girl?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Crap.”

Before Tony realized what was happening, Peter was pushing himself up off the bed and reaching for the IV drip in his arm and pulling it out. Tony shoved himself up from his chair and jogged to the opposite side of the bed where Peter was moving his feet to land on the floor.

“What, Peter?” Tony repeated, holding his hands out to keep Peter down - but Peter just shoved them aside and stood anyway. “What girl?” Tony stumbled back to avoid Peter’s quickly-approaching frame as the boy tried to head for the doorway. Tony planted his hands on Peter’s shoulders but Peter shoved him back and Tony went flying, his head hitting against the far wall.

Tony blinked dark spots from his eyes, head reeling. He forced his eyes to focus on Peter, who was standing a few steps away from him, eyes unblinking.

“Peter Benjamin-”

“Did you see a girl?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, thinking back to the scene of two hours ago - Peter lying, bloodied, in the middle of an alley, twelve men running back to a black truck, which peeled out onto the street just before Tony reached them.

“Uh, no.” Tony shook his head, pushing himself to his feet despite the pounding in his skull. “What’s going on, Peter?”

“They got her.”

“Got her?” Peter started moving again and Tony sidestepped to block his path, his fingers just a twitch away from summoning the suit. If Tony needed to restrain Peter by force, he would. Peter had a concussion (and Tony might’ve had one too, now that it was mentioned), he was hopped up on pain medication, and he was still in his hospital gown, for goodness’ sake.

Peter glared at Tony, and he prepared himself for another throw - but instead, Peter just groaned.

“The girl, Mr Stark. There was a girl. I heard her screams. They- they were going to kill her, Mr. Stark, but maybe they - I don’t know, everything was blurry, and if you didn’t even see a- a body-” Peter pulled his hands up to his mouth, one layered over the other, to block his sobs from escaping. Tony’s heart felt like it was collapsing into itself.

Tony reached a careful hand up to place it on Peter’s shoulder - but the boy’s eyes snapped open and suddenly he was shoving Tony away from him once more. Tony collapsed, head spinning. He had felt Peter’s full strength before in training sessions, but he was always in the suit-

The suit.

Tony needed the suit.

He tapped his fingers quickly to the arc reactor, the nanobots forming over his body as he forced himself back up to face Peter, the boy almost out the door.

“Peter!” Peter turned around just in time for Tony to go barreling into him. Tony reached an arm around Peter’s back and cushioned his head with his second hand as the two landed on the floor, Peter squirming to try and get away - but Tony held fast. With Peter’s arms held to his sides by the Iron Man suit, and Tony’s gauntlet on his head, he couldn’t go anywhere - but he wasn’t happy about it.

“Mister Stark!” he shouted, and Tony forced himself to stay strong. He forced himself not to consider the fact that he was currently restraining his child, his child who was fighting against him, screaming to be let go.

“Peter, you’re delirious. Hopped up on pain meds. You need to calm-”

Peter fought harder, and Tony had to grit his teeth to focus his attention on keeping him down.

“They took her, Mr. Stark, they took her and she could be dead but maybe I could stop it I could stop it if you let me go-”

“Peter-”

But the boy wouldn’t listen. He fought harder, but he couldn’t leave the grip of the Iron Man suit. Tony dropped his head onto Peter’s chest as he tightened his grip, and soon Peter wasn’t yelling as much as he was sobbing.

“Mr. Stark,” he cried, chest heaving. “Mr. Stark, I could save her, I could save her if you let me go-”

“I know, Pete.” Tony let the suit melt away as he clutched Peter tighter, and soon it was just the two of them on the floor, crying into each other’s shoulders. “I know. But you can’t go now. You’re not ready-”

“I am,” he cried, gently pushing Tony off of him to sit upright. Tony followed suit so one of his legs was bent against his chest and the other was lying flat, his foot near Peter’s crossed legs. “I am ready, I can do this, Tony, please-”

“You’re hurt, you’re not in your right mind-”

“I can help,” Peter sobbed, leaning forward in desperation. “Let me help, Mr. Stark, please, I can’t let this happen, it’s my fault-”

“Hey.” Tony moved forward and moved his hand to Peter’s shoulder. Peter stared back up at him through tearful eyes. “You’re not letting anything happen, and it’s not your fault, alright?”

Peter shook his head and dropped his eyes. “I could’ve done more,” he whispered, and Tony tugged the hand on Peter’s shoulder until he was falling forward into Tony’s chest.

“You did plenty,” Tony soothed, clutching a hand over the back of Peter’s head.

“I didn’t save her.” Peter’s whispers were so quiet, so haunted, that Tony felt like someone had wrapped their hand around his heart and was unrelentingly squeezing.

“Leave it to me, alright?” Tony muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “Let me help you.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Do you trust me?”

Peter nodded his head without a moment’s hesitation. “Always.”

“Then let me help you.”


	15. “Oh god, what did they do to you? / I’ve got you.”

When Tony received the ransom note, when he donned the suit and flew toward that beaten-down warehouse, he was expecting the worst - but he wasn’t prepared for how awful the situation really was.

The kidnappers were idiots. They took no care in preparing for Iron Man to come knocking down their door. Well, they should’ve. They should’ve realized that by taking Tony Stark’s kid, they weren’t getting away with minor bruises. Needless to say, the four men were dead within seconds, leaving Tony to turn his attention to other areas of the singular, large room - and what looked to be a fucking _cage_ in the corner.

 _That’s not him_ , Tony thought warily as he took a careful step toward it, shadows hindering his vision and keeping him from seeing what was inside.

“Peter?” he called as he opened the suit and stepped out of it in one fluid motion, his voice trembling. Sounds echoed from - from the cage, sounding like scraping. Tony’s heart skipped a beat as he moved closer, joining the cage in the shadows, and-

And there was a _boy_ in there.

_Peter._

It was a cage so small Peter had to sit with his back hunched to fit. He had pressed himself into the far back corner, chained hands wrapped tightly around his knees and holding them to his chest, his eyes wide as he watched Tony crouch just outside of the cage door.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat.

“Peter,” he whispered, voice harrowed as he reached for the lock that held the door in place - but he stopped himself when Peter… when Peter _whimpered_.

“Peter,” he repeated, voice so quiet it was barely heard, even by him. He wondered if Peter was listening. “Gosh, Peter, what did they do to you?”

The room was silent, the only noises being Peter’s uneven, nervous breaths from the corner of his - _fuck_ \- his cage.

“Okay. Okay, Pete, it’s me, alright? It’s Mr. Stark. I’m here,” he whispered, forcing his eyes to remain on Peter’s as he slowly inched his hands closer to the lock. It was a padlock - of course it was. They were easy enough to break into; he just needed a little light. He reached a hand behind him and gestured for the suit to come closer, but movement from the cage stopped him in his tracks.

Peter had forced himself back, had forced himself onto as small of a space as possible, and was now staring at Tony like - like he was _scared_ of him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony cursed, and stopped the suit from approaching. He lifted his hands in front of him, palms out, and ducked his head to appear non-threatening, looking up at Peter through his lashes.

“Peter, it’s me, alright? It’s Mr. Stark.” Peter didn’t move. “Look, I don’t know what they did to you, and I’m sorry I even let them get their hands on you in the first place, but I- I’m here to get you out, okay? I’m here to get you out, and then I’ll bring you home. And if you don’t want to see me again, I’ll leave, but let’s just… let’s get you back to May.”

Peter sniffled and angled his head closer to Tony. “M-Mr. Stark?” he slowly unfurled himself and reached his chained hands closer to the bars. Tony didn’t move - he wouldn’t dare - he just watched as Peter slowly came closer, his heart aching.

“Yeah, bud.” Peter reached his hands to the bars, and Tony lifted his to meet them. “I’m here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Peter’s expression suddenly grew desperate, and his hands reached through the bars, grabbed onto Tony’s for dear life. “ _Mr. Stark_ ,” he cried, pulling himself as close to the bars as possible. Tony moved himself closer until he felt the metal on his forehead and snaked his hand up Peter’s wrist to grab his arm.

“I’m here, Peter, I’m here. I’ll get you out, okay? I promise.”

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter sobbed, and Tony blinked back tears of his own.

“I’ll get you out of there, Peter, I promise, but you need to stand back.”

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip on Tony’s hand. “Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark, _please_ , Mr. Stark-”

“Okay,” Tony sighed, and leaned his head against the bars. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It was a few minutes before Peter stood far enough back to let Tony break open the lock, and the door was open for barely longer than a second before Peter barreled forward into Tony’s arms. Tony held him fast and Peter sobbed into Tony’s chest as he whispered assurances of _I’ve got you_ into Peter’s hair, and it was half an hour before Peter allowed Tony to break his chains and they were ready to go home.


	16. Tony's abusive boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW domestic abuse

Tony wasn’t supposed to know. _No one_ was supposed to know. Ian was Tony’s closest friend since Rhodes, and they were quickly becoming closer, so Peter didn’t tell him. So what if he “went out with Ned” whenever Ian was at the tower, and hid on the rooftop? So what if he “had lots of homework” whenever Tony informed him of family dinners?

So what if he wore sweaters and scarves to cover bruises and cuts?

Tony was happy, and it had been _so long_ since he was happy, so Peter let it happen.

Let Ian use him like a punching bag.

He was doing more chores because Ian told him to. He got a job at Delmar’s because Ian told him to. He was living his life by Ian’s rules.

But Tony was happy, so Peter let it happen.

Days of smiles turned into weeks of frowns. Weeks of frowns turned into months of yelling. Seasons passed, and the abuse got worse. Words turned into slurs. Hands turned into belts.

But Tony was happy, so Peter let it happen.

Tony noticed Peter was quieter. He noticed the kid spent less time with him, and more with Ned. He noticed he seemed to have more homework than usual, and took more time to get it done.

But Tony was happy, and so he didn’t realize.

The broken glass was the first sign. It was in the garbage can, hidden beneath a few paper towels, and so Tony thought someone had just broken a glass and cleaned it up - until he saw shards of glass at the bottom of Peter’s laundry hamper.

Tony was skeptical, and so he began to realize.

The way Peter shied away from physical contact. The way he flinched when Tony spoke too loud. The way he averted his gaze whenever Ian entered the room.

Tony thought he understood, and so he needed confirmation.

He walked into Peter’s room one night when he was doing “homework” - but Peter wasn’t there. Tony asked Friday. Peter was on the roof.

Tony followed him up, saw his kid on his back, arms above his head, staring up at the stars. His sweater was lying forgotten to his side, and so Tony saw his arms, glowing in the light of the moon.

He saw the pale skin, littered with bruises and cuts.

He demanded an explanation. Maybe he looked a little scary. Tony couldn’t find it in himself to care. It took some demanding, some yelling, some flinching on Peter’s end. Tony would apologize later, of course he would, for how uncomfortable he was making Peter now, and for so much more.

But then Peter confessed.

Tony learned the truth, and so, he was livid.

He stormed back down to Ian, Peter hiding behind him. Tony screamed. He yelled. He threw things, anything within reach.

He grabbed the gauntlet.

Ian swore back, threatened Peter.

Tony fired a shot.

It was a warning shot. It missed. Ian called Tony crazy. He ran out. Tony would call his lawyers in the morning. Ian would suffer.

Tony threw the gauntlet aside. He pulled Peter into his arms. He apologized, again, and again, and again. He whispered comforts. Peter cried. They fell asleep, Tony holding his son, and in the morning, things were better.

They hadn’t realized the sun had been so dark until it shone again.

Ian went to court. Peter testified, and so did Tony. Ian apologized, asked for a second chance - but Tony wouldn’t listen. Not this time. The bastard went to jail.

Peter was safe, and so Tony was happy.


	17. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. / Please be okay.”

Peter barely had the chance to tighten his grip on Tony’s arm before the window of the t.v. room of the tower was shattering into pieces, littering the floor with glass shards.

Panic gripped Tony’s heart and squeezed. It was a Friday night, supposed to be a relaxing movie night with the kid, but now Tony was pushing Peter’s head down, wrapping his arms around the kid and pulling him to the floor. The pair winced as shards embedded themselves in their arms, but Tony couldn’t dwell on it, because just then three heavily-armored men swung into the room through the open window and raised their guns, pointed directly at Tony, and his kid.

Tony didn’t like that.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, trying to push himself up - but one of the men stepped forward, and Tony fell back to the floor. “Who are you people? What do you want?”

“Give us Spider-Man, and we’ll be on our way.” The man pressed his gun against Tony’s head as the other two stepped toward Peter, who was staring at Tony with wide eyes. Tony’s eyes flew to Peter for a split second before returning to the man.

“No, I don’t think so.”

In a single, fluid motion, Tony shoved the gun aside with his left hand and sent a punch to the man’s face with his right. The man barely stumbled back, but it was enough. Peter jumped to his feet and sent a kick to the guard nearest him, sending him flying into the chair Tony had previously been sitting in. Tony barely had a second to smile proudly before he turned back to Meanie Number One and sent another punch, but it was intercepted and he was thrown back.

Tony blinked black spots from his eyes. Judging from the grunts behind him (that _weren’t_ Peter’s), Spider-Man was holding his own, 2-1 - so Tony just had to beat this one guy. _And_ he had a suit, so-

The nanotech was forming around him before he even finished the thought. _Man_ , his suit was intuitive.

Tony sent a blast behind him, and- okay, so, that went right through the t.v., _as well as_ the bad guy. Whatever. The bad guy was gone, and that was all that mattered.

_But it was a really nice t.v._

Tony groaned as he focused on Peter kicking Meanie Number Two to the ground. He didn’t get back up. Tony sent a second blast to Meanie Number Three over Peter’s shoulder and he fell like a stone. Peter turned to face Tony with wide eyes that immediately fell into a smile.

Tony stepped closer to Peter, assessing the damage around the room as he did so. “You alright?”

“Fine. Hey, at least they weren’t after _you_ this time-”

Peter was collapsing before he could finish his sentence.

“ _Peter!_ ” Tony’s eyes turned wildly to Meanie Number Two - who was holding a gun, aimed at where Peter was previously standing. Tony fired a blast without a thought before disengaging the suit and falling to his knees beside Peter.

“Peter. _Fuck_ , please be okay…. Peter, look at me, bud.” He forced his voice to remain calm as he gently rolled Peter onto his back - and almost cried at what he saw.

Peter’s entire stomach was covered in blood.

A feeble hand clutched Tony’s wrist and his eyes shot to where Peter was drearily blinking up at him.

“M… Mr. Stark-”

“Yeah, kid, I know, we’re getting you to the Med Bay right now-”

“No.” Peter squeezed tighter and Tony froze from where he was beginning to snake his arms around the kid’s torso. “No, you have- have to pull it out-”

Tony’s eyes widened as Peter’s hand moved down to his stomach. He grabbed Peter’s wrist and held it in a fist.

“ _What?_ No. Nuh-uh. I’ll- I’ll call Helen, she’ll-”

“No time. It’ll… heal around-”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “How do you know? Peter - Peter, have you been _shot_ before?”

A crooked smile crossed Peter’s drowsy features. “F’cus,” he teased, and the corner of Tony’s mouth twitched - before he remembered what he was about to do.

“Peter. Kid, I can’t do this. I don’t have the medical training-”

“N’ther does Bruce. He does ‘t-”

“No.” Tony shook his head, panic rising in his throat. What if he fucked up? What of he- if he made it _worse_ \- “I’m not Bruce, Peter, I can’t do this-”

“Mr. S’ark.” Peter moved his hand back up to Tony’s wrist and grabbed it feebly. “Please.”

Tony stared at him for a moment before sighing through gritted teeth. “ _Fine_ , you little twerp. Okay, so, I… how do I do this?”

“Don’t….” Peter took a heavy, slow breath, and Tony reached over and slapped his cheek. He startled awake and blinked lethargically up at Tony. “Don’t worry. My body’ll… fix itse’f. Just pull ‘t out.” Tony nodded shakily. “’nd… get the suit.”

“Won’t it be easier without it? Pete, I don’t wanna hurt you-”

“Oh, it’ll hurt like… like a bitch.” Peter laughed, followed by a painful cough, and Tony smiled and shook his head to hide his tears at hearing Peter sounding so _pained_. “You’ll have’ta… have to hold me down.”

A chill set into Tony’s bones. “What… what the _heck_ , Parker? I’m not going to hold you down-”

“I’m gonna fight you, you won’t b’able to-”

“I’m not going to do that to you-”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter squeezed the hand that was still holding Tony’s wrist. “ _Please_. There’s… no time.”

Tony looked at Peter - _really_ looked at him. Looked at the way his eyes were slowly falling shut, but never straying from Tony’s own. Never once losing their trust in him.

Tony grit his teeth… and called the suit to him once more.

“Okay,” he sighed, and Peter smiled. Tony wanted to cry. “I- On three, okay?”

Peter nodded and closed his eyes. Tony braced a hand on Peter’s shoulder, counted down… and then started.

The second his metal-clad fingers touched the wound, Peter started screaming. It sent chills down Tony’s spine. He desperately wanted Friday to block all outside noise, but he stopped himself from requesting it. That would be a betrayal to Peter. Tony couldn’t _cause_ this pain, then turn his back on the receiver. Instead, he let Friday highlight the location of the bullet, and he endured it.

“I know- I know it hurts, Peter, I’m sorry- _fuck,_ ” Tony tried to console, but his words were dwarfed by Peter’s screams as Tony forced himself to keep going, as Peter thrashed and Tony had to grab both of Peter’s wrists in one of his gauntleted hands and force them to his chest.

The screaming was - it was awful, and it just grew louder the closer Tony got to the bullet. Tony tried not to think about what he was doing, tried to imagine it as a damn treasure hunt game, but that would also be betraying Peter, and so, he forced himself to come to terms with what he was doing.

He was digging through Peter’s body to fish out a bullet.

 _Fuck_.

The second Tony had the bullet in his hand he threw it across the room so hard it implanted itself in the far wall. Tony pulled his hands away from Peter as the screaming ceased and disengaged his suit, the nanotech feeling like ants on his skin as it retracted into his arc reactor - which he wanted to rip out and throw out the window, let it shatter on the ground below. He sat, panting, watching Peter as the boy pushed himself up, wincing.

“Peter, I- _fuck_ , I’m sorry-”

“No,” Peter grunted, forcing himself to a seated position. Blood began to cascade from his wound and Tony was torn between the urge to rush forward and help, and the fear of what his hands had just been used to do. What they had the _potential_ to do. “Thank you.”

“No, Peter, not _thank you_ , I just-”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groaned, removing his hand from his stomach for a second to look at the wound below- and then pushing it back on. “Mr. Stark. _Thank you_.”

Tony gnawed on his lip and ran a hand through his hair. “So I- I should call… Helen-”

“No.” To Tony’s horror, Peter began to push himself to his feet, and against his better judgement Tony surged forward to place a stabilizing hand - one on Peter’s back, the other on his arm. Peter gave him a grateful smile. “No, this’ll… this’ll heal. Let’s just finish the movie.”

Peter fell backward into his seat, looking in disdain at the body in Tony’s seat to his left. He reached a hand over, breathed through the pain from his- his _bullet wound_ \- and nudged the body until it was leaning over the opposite armrest. Tony watched him, mouth agape.

“What do you mean, _let’s just finish the movie?_ ”

Peter sunk back into his seat and gestured to the t.v. - but froze when he realized it was broken.

“… Okay. Uh, t.v. in your room?”

Peter began to push himself off the seat, but Tony held his hands over his chest and kept him down. Peter glared at him.

“ _Peter._ You got shot. You’re bleeding out. _Go to the Med Bay_.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sighed condescendingly. “I’ve been shot before-”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’ll heal. I’ll be _fine_. Now, can we _please_ continue Lilo and Stitch?”

Tony crossed his arms and set his jaw. Yes, he was about to play the waiting game with a sixteen-year-old.

Peter was the first to cave. “ _Fine_. Just… help me up?”

He held his arms out, and for a second Tony got the impression of a toddler, asking to be picked up by his parent. He sighed and complied, pulling Peter to his feet and draping Peter’s arm over his shoulder.

“You know, I actually _am_ fine-”

“Shut up, Parker."

Yeah, Peter was fine.


	18. “Can you stay awake for me? / You’re burning up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bio!Dad Tony

Tony was bolting upright and jumping out of bed without a moment’s hesitation and running toward Peter’s room, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he processed the panic in his son’s voice. He opened the door to Peter’s room and saw the six-year-old sitting up on his bed, his hand on his stomach, staring at Tony with tears in his eyes.

“I… I don’t feel so good.”

Tony stepped swiftly toward the bed and perched himself on the edge, placing a hand on Peter’s forehead. He almost jumped back with the heat radiating off him.

“Pete, you’re burning up.” He readjusted his hand - moved it to Peter’s cheeks, his neck - but all over, Peter’s skin was warm. Not just warm, _hot_.

“What hurts, buddy?”

Peter drew his arms tighter around himself. “Everything.”

Tony shook his head slightly. That couldn’t be true. Kids said _everything_ all the time, when the problem was really something as small as an elbow bruise. Sure, Peter was smarter than them, more _intelligent_ than them, and wouldn’t say _everything_ if he didn’t mean _everything_ \- but he couldn’t really mean it, right?

“Okay, what, Pete? Your head?” A small nod. “Stomach?” Another nod. “Okay, well, have you felt this before? Try to describe it.”

Peter moved closer to Tony and fell against his side. Tony put a careful arm around him and rubbed it gently up and down his arm.

“I dunno, I’m really hot.”

Tony sighed internally. He was _not_ trained for this.

“I’m going to call Auntie Nat, okay? And we’ll get you all fixed up.” Peter hummed his approval and settled in closer to his dad.

“Friday,” Tony called out, and the room began to glow with a gentle orange light. A sign she was responding. “Call Natasha.”

It was a few moments before her voice pieced through, scratchy and rough.

“Hello?”

“Nat.”

“ _Tony?_ It’s… it’s two in the morning, what are you-”

“Hey, at the orphanage, do any of your kids get sick?”

Tony continued to rub his hand along Peter’s arm as Natasha hesitated.

“Yeah, all the time. Why, is Peter-”

“He’s burning up, Nat. I don’t know what to do.”

Natasha cleared her throat, and Tony smiled. He could always rely on her.

“What’s his temperature?”

“Friday-”

“ _On it, boss.”_ Tony waited silently until a moment later when Friday responded, “ _106 degrees.”_

Natasha cursed from the other end of the line. “Okay, Tony, don’t let him sleep. Keep him awake until we can drop his temperature.”

Tony swallowed down his panic to lean his head down and nudge Peter’s head with his own. He blinked blearily and looked up at Tony, who gave him a small smile.

“Hey, buddy. I know you’re tired, but I’m going to need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?”

Peter nodded once before rubbing his eyes and sitting upright. Tony smiled and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before addressing Natasha.

“Alright, he’s awake.”

“Great. Give him a cold bath, and that should drop his temperature.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Natasha didn’t speak for a moment. “You’ll have to take him to the hospital.” Tony felt Peter tense from beside him and raised a hand to rub gentle circles into his kid’s back. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Thanks, Nat. Have a good night.”

“You too, Tony.”

Then she hung up, and it was just Tony and Peter, left watching each other in the dim, orange light of the room.

“Alright, Petey-Pie. Let’s get you into a tub-”

“Dad?”

Tony lifted Peter from the bed and began to walk him to the bathroom. “Yeah, Pete?”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Tony set Peter down on the cold tile floor and bent to look him in the eye. “You won’t. Now, come on, climb in.”

Peter looked at the tub in disdain. “I don’t wanna.”

Tony cocked his head. “Why not?” Peter just stared back at him. Tony sighed. “Okay, you want to… sit up on the counter? I’ll wash your face with a cloth?”

Peter grinned and nodded as he tried to clamber up the counter top. Tony smirked and ducked his head down to get a washcloth in one of the cabinets under the sink.

“I don’t think you can climb up there, kiddo. Let me help you-”

Tony straightened back up, washcloth in hand - and froze. Peter was sitting atop the counter, smiling triumphantly. Tony’s mouth fell open as he took in the entire height of the three-foot counter, and the six year old sitting on top.

“O…kay.” He stepped forward with the washcloth and rinsed it under the sink before beginning to scrub it over Peter’s face. “I don’t know _how_ you just did that, but we can talk about it in the morning.” Peter kicked his feet with excitement at the unexplicit praise.

“So,” Tony continued as he moved to Peter’s neck, “no water?”

Peter frowned and shook his head. “I had a bad dream.”

“A nightmare.”

“No. It wasn’t scary enough to be a nightmare. A bad dream.” Tony scoffed, and Peter’s frown deepened. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“No, Petey, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just… I’m very impressed.”

Peter watched Tony skeptically, but he continued anyway. “A… a eagle picked me up and dropped me into the water and I was wet and scared but you flew in and you saved me.”

Tony knit his brows as he finished wetting Peter’s face and dropped the cloth into the sink. “I’m sorry, Peter, that sounds scary. Friday, temperature?”

“ _103 degrees_.”

Tony smiled and looked at Peter. “You know what that means.”

“What?”

“No hospital.”

Peter beamed and kicked his feet happily. Tony laughed and scooped him off the counter, held Peter in his arms and carried him downstairs.

“Where are we going?”

“To get you some medicine.”

Peter scowled, and Tony wanted to laugh at how cute he looked. “You said no hospital.”

“Yes, but you still need medicine.”

Peter scowled as Tony set him down on the counter, and he laughed, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders and planing a kiss on his forehead.

“You know I love you, Petey. I’ll always come save you.”

“I know, Dad.” Peter laughed - but the smile was wiped from his face when Tony turned around and came back with a bottle of grape-flavoured medicine.

Grape was the worst flavour.


	19. “I won’t let you fall. / I thought I’d never get to see you again. / I’m sorry I failed you, I should’ve been there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man: Homecoming compliant

Tony didn’t want to get too close to Peter. Whenever he got close to people, they got hurt, or seriously injured, or even _died_ , in some not-so-rare cases. He didn’t want that happening to Peter, so, he stayed away.

He told Peter, _We’ll call you. Somebody will call you._ Leave it vague. Let the kid be hopeful, without explicitly telling him, _We’ll never call you._ I’ll _never call you. I would never do that to you._

Being a superhero was hard. Being the _good guy_ was hard, which was why Tony never wanted Peter to experience it - but maybe that wasn’t his choice.

It was just over two months later when the Stark Industries jet went down.

Happy was frantic, going crazy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He kept checking and rechecking documents from that night, begging Tony to give him another chance, and Tony wanted to laugh at the thought of him _ever_ firing Happy - but there was no time for humour. Stark tech… _failed?_ Stark tech _never_ failed.

“Happy,” Tony interrupted on his third round of _it won’t happen again_. “We need to go check out the wreckage.”

And there is was, written clear as day on a scrap piece of paper, confirming Tony’s suspicions:

_FOUND: FLYING VULTURE GUY. -SPIDER-MAN_

_P.S. SORRY ABOUT YOUR PLANE_

Tony planned to talk to Peter, debated with Happy on how to best carry out the conversation, but made no concrete plans. Tony was still nervous about getting close. What if he just… screwed the kid up more? Somehow condoned the behaviour, and suddenly Peter was crashing planes every weekend?

 _No_ , he finally thought to himself. _Break the cycle of shame. Tell him he did good, and…_

_And offer him a spot on the Avengers._

And that was exactly what Tony planned to do, until security footage surfaced a week later.

The Department of Damage Control had found it, one working security camera in a pile of rubble that used to be a Brooklyn factory warehouse. The footage made its way to Fury, who then passed it on to Tony, which led to him watching Peter lift the entirety of a _building_ off himself.

Before the building collapsed, Tony watched Peter flip and dodge and swing away from the pair of metal wings, too focused on the agility with which Peter moved and his quick reaction times to focus on the support beams being destroyed, one after the other - and soon that look of pride on Tony’s face gave way to horror as chunks of concrete buried Peter beneath them.

Tony’s eyes were glued to the screen, his hands tightly clenching the phone. He couldn’t look away, though he desperately wanted to. He barely blinked. For one, horrifying moment, everything was silent, and Tony couldn’t shove down the irrational thoughts of _Was this really in the past? What if this is live? What if Peter’s in trouble and I don’t know well enough to help him?_

Finally, _finally_ , Tony’s heart started beating again when there was a shift in the rubble and Peter resurfaced… _lifting_ it.

Tony watched as Peter lifted a freaking _storage container_ and shoved it away, then released a web and flew out of frame.

Tony continued to stare at the screen long after Peter was gone, and only put it down five minutes later to call out to Happy, “Get the kid.”

Happy rounded the corner to where Tony was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking frazzled. “Now?”

“ _Now?_ ” Tony mocked, reaching for his sunglasses from his breast pocket and sliding them onto his face. “Yes, now.”

Happy was back, pulling up to the compound not even a half hour later with Peter in the back seat. Tony watched them drive up, gnawing on his lip, and put his glasses on just in time for Happy to lead Peter into the room. He greeted them with a smile that definitely felt fake, and stepped forward to put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter looked up at him in surprise.

“M-Mister Stark, I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.”

Tony forced out a laugh. “What, you think I pick up Spider-Kids off the street, take them to fight Captain America, then drop them off and never visit?”

“Well, uh… I mean, last time didn’t exactly end… well.”

Tony swallowed thickly, forcing thoughts of _Howard Howard Howard_ from his mind. He was _not_ like Howard.

“Yes, well, I think you learned your lesson, don’t you? Best not to dwell on old… _mistakes_.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Great. I mean-”

“Hey, Hap.” Tony turned sharply, cutting Peter off. “Give us a minute.”

Happy’s brow furrowed. “Give- give you-”

“Yeah. Give us a minute.”

Happy looked between Tony and Peter, who was now watching with wide eyes, before taking a step back.

“Okay, I’ll be… over… here.”

“Great.”

Tony turned back around and practically pulled Peter behind him in his haste to get out of earshot of Happy. Just as Peter fell into step with him, Tony stopped sharply and turned to face Peter, putting his hands on his shoulders. Peter teetered precariously, then found his balance and looked up at Tony with wide eyes.

“You want to tell me what happened last week?”

Peter looked terrified. _Howard Howard Howard-_

“Your plane- Sir, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean for that to happen, it won’t happen again-”

“Woah, okay, calm down there, young buck.” Tony patted Peter’s shoulders and stepped back, giving him room to breathe. “I was referring to, hm, I don’t know, the Vulture? Metal wings? Building collapsing on top of you?”

Peter smiled - but it was so incredibly fake, Tony wanted to laugh - and crossed his arms over his chest, feigning nonchalance.

“I don’t, uh- building? What, wh- what do you mean? There was no _building_ -” Tony cocked an eyebrow, and Peter sighed. “Okay, yeah, there was a building.”

“Yeah. I know. I saw the footage.” Peter dropped his head and pressed the toe of his shoe into the ground. “Hey.” Tony lay a hand on his shoulder and he looked up shyly. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”

Peter’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”

“Yeah, kid, you lifted a _building_ off of yourself, and you didn’t even have your suit- which was, I guess, my fault. I, uh… sorry. My fault.” _Your fault your fault Howard Howard Howard_ \- “But, hey, Peter, why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped-”

Peter ducked his head again, blush growing. “I… _tried_. I called Happy but he must’ve been, uh, frustrated because I… might’ve been repeatedly calling him, but- uh, anyway, I guess I thought I could just… handle it by myself?”

“Is that a statement, or a question?” Peter just shrugged, head down. “So I took away your suit. You were scared, didn’t want to ask for help, but when you finally needed to, I didn’t answer.” Peter didn’t respond.

_Howard Howard Howard-_

“Hey, Peter- Hey. Eyes up. Look at me.” Peter’s head flew up to make eye contact with Tony, and - wow, he actually looked _scared_. “Look, I’m sorry I failed you. I should’ve been there, okay? My fault. And- see, I was a bit mad after the whole… _ferry_ thing-”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m apologizing.” Peter’s lips clamped shut. _Howard Howard Howard-_ “I’m saying… yeah, I was upset. But if you’re in trouble, you _call me_ , okay? No matter how mad I am… Pete, I won’t let you fall.”

Peter smiled then, small and gentle but quickly escalating until it was a toothy grin. Tony smirked in response.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he stuttered, and Tony nodded once before wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and leading him forward once more, toward a wall of paneling that was removable - but Peter didn’t know that.

Yet.

“So. Something called the Avengers Initiative. You ever heard of it?”


	20. “Hey, it’s me, it’s just me. / Look at me. / I know you can’t talk, but I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW non-consensual body mutilation

The first time they did it, it was just a scare.

Peter had said one too many smart quips and one of the guards lunged for him, grabbed him by his hair dragged him away from Tony’s desperately reaching arms, and clamped a hand over his mouth. Tony hurried to rush forward, to grab his kid and pull him away from these masochists, but then the guard moved one of his fingers to cover Peter’s nostrils.

Tony had never stilled so fast.

“This is a temporary solution,” the guard had said with a smirk that made Tony’s stomach churn as Peter’s wide eyes met his, the kid’s body struggling for air - but with the hand gripping his hair, he couldn’t move. “We can make it permanent any time we want.”

The second they left this piss-poor excuse for a cell Tony was pulling Peter into his arms as the kid took heavy breaths. Tony was rubbing his back soothingly, quietly hushing him and begging him, “Never again. You never say anything again.”

But Tony should’ve been careful of what he wished for.

He should’ve known better. Peter didn’t keep quiet. He always used humour to defuse tense situations, Tony knew this - but this time that wasn’t the case. One of the guards was beating on Tony, punching him and kicking him for something he didn’t even know. He didn’t listen to these guard’s demands. He knew, no matter how pointless they seemed, he would never fulfill them.

But then Peter opened his mouth.

Tony didn’t even hear what he had said, through the heartbeat loud in his ears and, soon, panic joining in, because first they shoved Peter to the ground, then planted a foot on his back, before they threaded a hand through his hair and _pulled_.

Something in Peter’s back cracked. He screamed.

Tony fought to stand up. He fought to get to his kid, but the guard who had previously been using him as a punching bag shoved him to the floor and planted a foot on his back.

“You talk too much, little one,” Peter’s guard said, staring down sadly at Peter like he was an ant. An ant about to be stepped on. “We have to do something about that.”

“Peter,” Tony called, voice hoarse. “Peter, it’s going to be okay. Look at me, kid, it’ll be okay-” The guard moved his foot from Tony’s back and kicked his head. Black spots danced across his vision as the world spun. Tony tried to shake it off. That only made it worse, but Tony didn’t give up - not when Peter’s guard said something, not when Peter started calling his name.

“M-Mister Stark-”

“Quiet, _pest_.” Tony forced his vision to focus just in time to see the guard haul Peter to his feet. He braced one arm around Peter’s chest and gripped the other around Peter’s chin before a third guard stepped between Tony and Peter, effectively blocking the latter from view, carrying a small, black box. He opened it, grabbed something inside, and tossed it away.

Peter’s large, watering, _terrified_ eyes were the last things Tony saw before the screaming started.

It echoed through Tony’s skull, loud in his ears as he fought against his guard, but every move earned him another kick to the head and he didn’t have the strength. He was forced to remain on the ground as he heard Peter beg and scream and plead and call his name until the guard told him, “Better close that mouth, or we’ll screw up,” and a chill settled into Tony’s bones.

He knew what was going on.

Peter’s sobs filled the air, but they were different - muffled - and they seemed to last a century, until the guard stepped back, away from Peter. The one restraining him turned and threw him into the far wall, _away_ from Tony, and the three guards left the room, gone - without a care of the trauma they had left behind.

Tony scrambled to his feet the second they had gone and hauled himself to Peter’s side, where he lay crumpled in the corner of the room.

“Peter,” he sobbed, running a gentle hand along Peter’s arm. “Peter, P- Peter, look at me, please-”

Peter complied. And Tony wished he hadn’t.

He slowly turned his head from the wall to face Tony, and surprisingly, the first thing Tony noticed was his large, watering eyes.

Not his quivering lips, the string that pinched them together, and the blood that coated it.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tony gasped as he pulled Peter into his lap without hesitation. Peter reached for him, latched onto his shirt and cried into his chest - but the sound was _awful_ , gasping noises that weren’t gasps because Peter wasn’t opening his mouth, _he couldn’t open his mouth_ , and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t get enough air and-

“Peter,” Tony whispered through his tears. “Peter, please, calm down, you need to _breathe_ -” Tony began to card his fingers through Peter’s curls- and the boy immediately jolted away from him.

He scrambled back until his back hit the wall and Tony stared at him, eyes wide, trembling hands held up with his palms facing Peter.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, voice shaky. “It’s- it’s just me.”

Peter’s face crumpled and he fell forward. Tony moved quick enough to catch him and hold him close, cradling him like a child against his chest - because that’s all he was.

A child.

A fucking child with his mouth sewn shut.

“Okay,” Tony whispered, gently rocking the pair of them from side to side. It didn’t calm Peter, nor himself, but it was something to do. “Okay. It’s… it’s going to be okay. I… I know you can’t… _talk_ , but I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Okay, Pete? I’m… I’m not going anywhere.”

And Tony repeated that as they sat, rocking back and forth, Peter’s echoing sobs mixing with Tony’s silent tears and creating a tapestry of tragedy.

_I’m not going anywhere._


	21. First snowfall of winter

The moment Peter looked out of his bedroom window in the cabin that morning, his mouth dropped open.

Snow.

And it was _everywhere_.

It was covering the surrounding area - trees, earth, even the slightly frozen-over lake - in a pearly blanket. Maybe that sounded cliche, but it was _true_. Everywhere he looked, everything within sight, was covered in a smooth layer of, what looked to be, powdered gemstones, the light hitting it at a perfect angle to reflect in a multitude of directions.

It truly was beautiful.

Peter only gave himself a minute to dress as quickly as he could in his warmest sweatpants and comfiest long-sleeve shirt, sneaking glances out the window the entire time (unable to tear his eyes from the literal winter wonderland outside), before he raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, stopping short from knocking a coffee cup out of a tired-looking Tony Stark’s hand.

Tony hummed disapprovingly in his trademark _it’s-too-early-to-deal-with-this-kinda-shit_ way. “Good morning to you, too, Peter-”

“Mr. Stark! Did you look outside?” Peter was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stared out of the sliding door that took up a good portion of the wall in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry - you’re a _literal genius_ , and you don’t know what snow is?”

Peter frowned, finally standing still. “Mr. _Staaark_ ,” he whined, and Tony rolled his eyes and took another sip from his mug (to hide his smile). “It’s _pretty_.”

“I know it is, Pete. I can see it.” Peter went back to staring forlornly out the window, and Tony sighed. “Look, if you love it so much, why don’t you go play in it, huh? No one’s stopping you.”

“Mr. Stark, I can’t play in the snow _alone_.”

“Drop the whole _Mr. Stark_ , for one. C’mon, kid, I’ve been begging you for _ages_ , and Tony Stark doesn’t beg. Second, no one else is going out there with you, certainly not me.”

Tony lifted the mug to his lips once more and turned to stare absentmindedly out the window, unable to see the mischievous grin Peter was sending his way. Then, out of nowhere, Tony felt himself being lifted into the air.

“Wha- _Peter!_ ” Tony exclaimed, feeling the boy’s arms around his waist as he struggled to keep his half-full coffee cup level. It wasn’t Peter lifting him that was the issue - the boy did it often. What was concerning him was the fact that Peter was carrying him toward the sliding door, giggling like a madman.

Tony’s heart dropped to his shoes.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, if you’re about to do what I think you’re thinking about doing-”

Tony didn’t have time to reassess the clarity of his statement before Peter pushed open the sliding door with his foot, a blast of frigid air hit his face - and he was shoved down into a snowdrift.

At first, Tony didn’t feel the cold, despite his short-sleeve shirt and flannel pajama pants. He was preoccupied by the (surprisingly comforting) feeling of light powder coating his arms, which, when Peter’s cackles reached his ears, turned into mental scheming for his revenge, and then anger at the reminder that his perfectly good, if lukewarm, coffee was now spilled.

And then the cold hit.

It wasn’t awful, just slightly numbing - though it would become _freezing_ in a few minutes, Tony knew, so he had to act quick.

He slowly pushed himself up to a seated position (ignoring the slight tremble in his fingers and the fact that he was beginning to lose feeling in his toes as a result of the thin socks he wore) and held out a hand to Peter, the boy practically doubled over in laughter.

“That was _hilarious_ ,” Tony said in a deadpan voice. “Now help me up.”

Peter straightened and Tony saw honest-to-goodness _tears_ formingin his eyes as he stepped forward and offered Tony his hand - which Tony grabbed and yanked forward, so Peter was tumbling into the snow beside him.

Peter’s eyes widened as he fell face first in the snow, and this time it was Tony’s turn to chuckle as the boy lay still for a moment, face-down. Then, he began to make snow angels.

Tony tilted his head back and laughed at how silly the boy looked, his arms and legs moving rapidly to counter the gently drifting snow.

Despite the chill that was now beginning to seep into his bones, Tony’s heart was warm.

“Geez, kid,” Tony teased, patting Peter’s back twice. “How are you so stubbornly vibrant all the time?”

Peter lifted his head out of the snow just enough to grin at Tony. Tony stifled a laugh and reached a pale finger forward to flick the snow off Peter’s nose.

“It’s _snow_. Snow means winter. Winter means _Christmas_.”

Peter pushed himself to his feet and brushed the snow off his legs, still smiling, as Tony remained on the ground and scoffed. “Yeah, getting presents is great, right?”

“No, _giving_ them,” Peter corrected, sounding offended as he took two steps backward before turning and stooping low to pick something up off the ground. Tony couldn’t see what it was, until Peter turned around a second later. “For example….”

In his cupped hands, he held a pile of snow, the top of it tinted dark brown. Tony recoiled on instinct.

“Peter-”

“ _Relax_ , it’s your spilled coffee,” Peter said with a laugh, lowering himself to sit gracefully beside Tony while still holding the snow in his hands. “Now, drink up.” He tilted his head and made a face. “Eat up? I mean, it’s water and coffee, but _solid_ water and coffee, but the longer it sits in my hands the more it melts-”

Tony hit his hand lightly against Peter’s forehead and the boy shut up, grinning widely. Tony bit back his own smile as he slid his hands under the pile of snow and lifted a chunk of it away from Peter’s. He shot Peter a look, like, _are you happy now?_ before he lifted the snow to his lips and… um, just kind of stuffed his face in. He didn’t know whether to chew or not. The snow was… _kind_ of solid. Like crystals, but they were melting by the second, and you couldn’t chew _liquid_ -

 _Shoot_ , he thought suddenly. _You sound like the kid._

But it tasted kind of alright, if he was being honest.

“You know eating snow is like eating dead skin cells.”

Tony’s face morphed into an expression of disgust and he tossed the snow aside, sticking out his tongue. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, dust and stuff attaches to the precipitation as it falls. Even catching snowflakes on your tongue isn’t one hundred percent frozen water.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I had to earn that reputation of genius _somehow_ , y'know. I know stuff.”

“ _I know stuff_ ,” Tony mocked, and Peter giggled as he pushed himself to stand, then held a hand out to Tony, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow and allowed Peter to pull him to his feet. “Kid, I’m _freezing_. Aren’t you cold?”

“Oh, abso-freaking-lutely,” Peter said happily. “But this is fun, no?”

Tony just shook his head in disbelief as Peter walked a few steps away to retrieve Tony’s discarded mug.

“Fine, yes, this is great. Just dandy. I _love_ freezing my butt off so early in the morning. Can we go back inside now?”

“I thought _my_ nickname was the sass master,” Peter taunted as they stepped back into the house, warmth hitting the two of them like a welcome brick wall. (Tony didn’t know a time when hitting brick walls was _ever_ welcome, but that was what it felt like.)

“Yeah, where do you think you got it from?”

They spent the rest of the morning curled up on the couch, Tony with a fresh cup of coffee, Peter having requested hot chocolate with exactly nine marshmallows. They watched movie after movie, Peter’s eyes constantly flickering back out the window, and to the new divots and piles of snow that had been created there.


	22. Tony goes dark when protecting Peter

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest at the sound of the young teenager’s voice, but he didn’t look away from the woman he was dangling off the roof, supporting her with nothing more than a single, gauntleted hand gripping her forearm. Her lips slowly morphed into a grin when she heard Peter’s voice, at the prospect of Peter being her saviour, of Tony being unable to complete his merciless goal with his son nearby.

Tony’s jaw tightened at the thought of her getting away free.

He straightened his elbow and she dangled further from the safety of the roof, her eyes widening as she looked anxiously down to the busy street fifty storeys below her. Tony couldn’t keep the twisted grin off his visible features, the Iron Man helmet sitting somewhere discarded behind him, having been thrown there once he found the villain who thought she could assault his son, and get away with it.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter repeated, closer this time. Tony saw the kid approach from the corner of his eye, but he wouldn’t look at Peter directly, no - because then he’d focus on his too pale skin, the blood dripping from the gash in his forehead, the way he was limping. His grip tightened on the woman’s skin, the gauntlet clamping down. The woman yelped.

“ _Mr. Stark!_ Let her go! I’m okay, see? I’m _fine_.”

“She attacked you, Parker,” Tony growled through gritted teeth.

“Mr. Stark. _Tony_.” Peter placed his hands gently on Tony’s arm, the one currently acting as the woman’s only lifeline. Tony grit his teeth together. He couldn’t relent, not now, or the moment he let this woman go she would chase after Peter again, her stupid costume glowing with electricity (before Tony short-circuited it) that she would use to attack his son without mercy, until he couldn’t fight back.

He wouldn’t allow a repeat.

“This isn’t you,” Peter continued quietly. The world had become still, traffic below seeming to have quieted, wind seeming to have halted.

“This is _exactly_ who I am,” Tony argued angrily, vision turning red as the woman swung silently below. “I’m your father, and a father is supposed to protect his son.”

Peter shook his head and he stepped closer to Tony. “Not like this.”

Tony turned his attention slowly to Peter and he saw the boy had tears brimming, his wide, worried eyes focused solely on Tony.

He shook his head once. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

Tony took in Peter’s pleading eyes before he grit his teeth and turned back to the woman.

“You leave,” he growled. “ _Now_. Get out of Queens, out of New York, out of _America_ , or next time, I’ll find you without the kid. You won’t want to know how that ends.”

The woman narrowed her eyes but nodded once and Tony pulled her up in one swift motion, tossed her across the roof like a sack of potatoes. She landed heavily on her side, sliding across the gravel, and froze, chest heaving. Tony watched her scramble to her feet, collect tatters of her broken suit, and disappear down the emergency stairwell. He heard the metal creak beneath her feet the entire way down.

Only when the sounds mixed with traffic below did he allow his eyes to trail back to Peter, who was staring at him cautiously as he stood a few steps away, eyebrows raised.

“You good?” he asked carefully. Tony let out a slow breath.

“I don’t want anyone hurting you. I’d kill for you, Peter.”

“I know.” Peter forced a nervous smile to his lips. “You almost did.”

Tony took a moment to just breathe, gazing at his kid’s face and allowing the childlike innocence to wash over him, calm him.

They flew a wordless flight back to the tower a few moments later. They didn’t speak of that event again - but Peter would never forget the dark look that arose in Tony’s eyes that night, the seemingly empty pits, the way his lips twisted into a sadistic grin and his eyebrows angled inward.

He would never forget the fear that wormed its way into his heart upon seeing his adoptive father like that. Even though the basis of Tony’s expression was to protect him, Peter couldn’t help but be afraid of it. He still saw glimpses of it, sometimes. A particularly dark memory would cross Tony’s mind, someone would say something that struck a cord, or the light would just cast shadows in the wrong places.

Whatever the reason, that night, Peter realized it was possible to be afraid of Tony, became aware that the man could crush him effortlessly.

And he’d never forget it.


	23. Tony helps Peter deal with mental illness

“I have anger in my heart.”

Tony froze, blinked a few times. “I’m sorry?”

“I-” Peter clamped his lips shut as if he wanted to stop himself before he said anything more. He shook his head once and kept his eyes focused on the movie playing in front of them, _La La Land_ \- but the music was way too joyful for their current conversation.

“Friday, mute. Peter, what do you mean?”

Tony turned on the couch to look at Peter, but the boy kept his eyes on the silently singing figures.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, eyes angled down. “I try to be good, y'know? And I try to stay happy and positive, and I think I’m doing a good job, but sometimes I just… get _angry_. And it hurts. Like, it physically hurts my chest and I just-”

Peter cut himself off and clenched his teeth, looking away from Tony to the opposite side of the room. Still, Tony didn’t take his eyes off the kid.

“What causes it?”

“That’s the thing, I just don’t _know_. It comes out of nowhere, and there’s no reason for it, but suddenly I’ll be so angry, at what I’m doing, at whoever’s in the room, at _myself_.”

Tony eased himself away from Peter, began to slowly remove his arm from behind Peter’s shoulders, but the boy turned to him sharply.

“No, that’s _not_ what I want!” he shouted, and Tony remained still until Peter groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I… I appreciate you trying to help. I like you being this close because at the same time it frustrates me, it also… soothes me, y'know?” Peter groaned. “Of course you don’t know, because I’m not making any sense.”

Tony sighed gently. He didn’t continue to withdraw his arm, nor did he move to put it back, so it was resting along the back of the couch.

“You _are_ making sense, kid. I get it.”

Peter looked up slowly. “You do?”

“‘Course. I mean, I can’t say I’ve personally experienced this, but I understand. You’re under stress, and you’ve been fighting to always be good, which is… frankly, it’s impossible. It was about due time you cracked.”

Peter shook his head. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “Talking to a professional might.”

Peter sat upright suddenly. “Like a therapist?”

Tony shrugged slightly. “Do you think that would help?”

“Yes,” Peter smiled. “Please.”

“You’ve thought about this before?”

“All the time,” Peter whispered, running his hands nervously along his thighs. “I always wanted it, always thought it would help. I just… I dunno, didn’t want to say anything, 'cause maybe you’d think I was faking. I wasn’t actually deserving of it.”

Peter’s voice had dropped until his last words were mumbled, indistinguishable. Tony sighed and placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, eased it slowly to his back and gently tugged the kid closer.

“Peter,” he murmured lightly as he felt the kid’s shoulders quiver under his arm. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, for one. You want therapy? You’re even considering it? You don’t need to explain anything. There’s no list of requirements, alright? You don’t have to be clinically ill. You want it? You got it, Pete, it’s that simple.

"And- shit, kid, you’re pushing yourself so hard. You think getting angry makes you a bad person? You’re the best kid I know. Heck, the best _person_. I’ve never met anyone with a bigger heart than you. Peter, you fight so hard. You can’t keep going like that! You’re going to burn yourself out!”

“No. No, I have to keep going. I have to keep helping people, ‘cause that’s all the good I can do on this earth, okay? That’s my only purpose!”

“Not at the expense of yourself. _Never_ at the expense of yourself. And that’s _not_ all you do, Peter! That’s not your only purpose! You’re _you!_ You can be you! You can be happy, and smart, and so, _so_ kind. Your value doesn’t come at the expense of others.”

Peter sighed as he leaned closer toward Tony. “So what do I do? How do I fix this?”

“We’ll take you to see a therapist, alright?” Tony soothed. “First thing.”

“Okay,” Peter said quietly as he sighed, anger fading away. He allowed Tony to pull him closer. “Okay.”

“And, Peter?”

“Hm?”

“Be selfish sometimes, okay? Take care of yourself. You can’t help others if you don’t _exist_.”

“Fine,” Peter sighed. “But I just want to help people.”

“And you’re so kind for doing that. But you need to take care of yourself every once and a while, or I will follow you _everywhere_ and shout positive things at you, and I don’t care _who_ you’re with. Capiche?”

Peter laughed, and Tony relished in the sound of it as he unmuted the movie just in time to hear _City of Stars_.

“Capiche.”


	24. Peter surprises Tony for Christmas

On December 25, Tony prepared dinner for one.

Tony knew Peter wasn’t going to make it home for Christmas. The kid had warned him via text a week ago, accompanied by a gif of Grumpy Cat beside a Christmas tree (Tony had to admit, it was pretty funny), and Tony replied with a video of an ecstatic dog wearing a Santa hat bounding around a living room. Thus began the gif war - but no matter how many funny, cute, and downright heartwarming animal videos he sent and received, none could fill the hole that drilled its way into his heart when he read the words:

_I can’t make it._

So, Tony prepared dinner for one.

He set up the round dinner table, one chair around it where there used to be (should have been) two. He wasn’t sure why he removed the second one, hid it in the supply closet rather than just leaving it out. Maybe he didn’t want to stare at the empty seat, knowing exactly who should’ve been sitting there, who he wouldn’t be able to see for another few months until the kid’s next break in March.

He set up one fork, one knife, adjacent to each other on one perfectly-folded napkin. If the kid was here there wouldn’t be nearly as nice of a set up - utensils strewn haphazardly across the table, napkins forming a teepee atop them as Peter “helped” (created chaos). But Tony was preparing dinner for one, and so he set up the utensils, perfectly placed, the napkin beneath them in a neat triangle - and a candle as the centerpiece.

The red candle, cinnamon scented, that Peter had insisted Tony buy. The one Tony argued against, but he could never truly say no to the kid.

And so he put it out now, lying to himself that he was using it because it was red, red for Christmas _(and Spiderman)_ and definitely not because he wanted to revive the memories that lived on in it.

As the roast chicken and potatoes Tony had prepared (Maria’s recipe) cooked in the oven, Tony looked out the tower windows at the city below, streets alight with joy and excitement and love. He was admiring the sites and sounds of the lively city below, he told himself (and definitely not searching for a brown-haired kid with a blue backpack, a swinging vigilante wearing red and blue, a fancy car driving to the tower from the direction of Midtown). He took in the sights of the city, flickering with light (and the faint red light he saw emitting from the Parker apartment a few streets away), children skating on the public ice rink below the tower (the one where Peter practically clung to Tony as he taught the kid how to skate), those walking with their families. Well, there was nothing to miss there, because Tony had no family.

And so, he prepared dinner for one.

He set up his plate and sat heavily at the table, the only light coming from the candle in the centre of the table, the only sounds being excited chatter from the streets below. Tony denied himself any music or television tonight, even going as far as to restrict any and all phone calls (except for Peter. If the kid called, he didn’t want to miss it. Peter was set up with a different ringtone, an annoying yodel the kid had picked out for himself, to the disdain of Tony - and one he hadn’t heard tonight, nor did he expect to).

Tony didn’t know why he had restricted himself so. Maybe he was punishing himself, but for what, he didn’t know. Maybe he was trying to materialize the guilt he felt into something tangible he could blame, or maybe… maybe it was because if he couldn’t have his main source of joy, he refused to indulge in any others.

And so Tony prepared dinner for one. He began to cut through his potatoes, the silence and absence of aimless chatter setting a chill in his veins - but he shrugged it off. His chest hurt, he noticed - why? Was it an issue with the arc reactor? Was he just hungry?

Or was his heart aware of what his mind had buried?

Tony scowled to force any emotions down and lifted a piece of potato to his mouth. He was about to take a bite when Friday interrupted him - which shouldn’t have been possible, because he shut her off, too. Fully isolated himself, deprived himself of anything good. Because if he couldn’t have the main source, why would he settle for anything less?

“Sir, there is a surprise for you on the roof.”

“Is it Thor?” Tony groaned. “Just tell him to go, Fri, I’m really not up for another power outage-”

“It’s not Thor,” she answered, with something that sounded suspiciously like amusement.

Tony frowned. “Then who-?”

“He requested I not say.”

_He?_

Tony’s heart started beating twice as fast. It couldn’t be… no, Peter was at MIT. His robotics team had a competition after the break they had to prepare for, and Peter was obviously the smartest on the team. They needed him. He wouldn’t opt to spend his Christmas with an old man.

 _But you told Friday not to bother you_ , his mind supplied hopefully. _She would listen, and there’s only one person who knows how to override her code._

Regrettably, Tony let hopefulness win.

“Fri,” Tony called, voice quivering. “Elevator.” He pushed himself shakily to his feet, hitting his foot on the table leg, but he didn’t stop. He hurried to the elevator that was already awaiting him, doors open, and bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as the doors shut behind him and it began to rise.

He looked nervously out of the glass. It couldn’t be Peter, right? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to hope, because if it wasn’t, he would be devastated.

But it was.

It had to be.

The doors opened and Tony turned, heart beating loud in his ears. And there, at the end of the roof…

A shadow.

A silhouette.

Tony stepped toward him, smiling wide. It was really him. He’d made it home-

“Tony.” Steve Rogers turned, and Tony’s heart dropped to his shoes. “Merry Christmas. I heard you were alone… just wanted to come say hi.”

Tony couldn’t keep from dropping his head, couldn’t keep the dejection from his features. Never hope. It was one of the first lessons he taught himself as a child. Never hope; you’ll only be disap-

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony froze, breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be him; it was all in his head-

“I’m sorry,” came the quiet voice from behind him. “I brought him up here. I thought it would be funny….” Tony turned, not wanting to believe it - but there he stood, Peter Parker, face apologetic… but happy. Smiling that wide, crooked, Peter Parker grin.

Peter shrugged. “The team was hopeless anyway. I mean, they named themselves the Bot Heads, Mr. Stark, can you belie-”

Tony stepped forward quickly and engulfed Peter in a hug, not caring how desperate he looked as his heart seemed to grow two sizes. Peter giggled as he lifted his arms to gently grip Tony’s back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tony said quietly.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, voice cracking. “Me, too.”

Tony held Peter for another few seconds before pulling away, keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders as he held the kid at arm’s length. His hair was longer - it had grown out in the last four months he’d been away - and there were heavy bags under his eyes… but he was happy.

He was home, and they both knew it.

“Come on,” Tony said. “I made you dinner.”

He knew there was a reason he had prepared dinner for two.

Tony rested his arm across Peter’s shoulders and guided him back to the elevator, feeling Peter lean heavily against his side as they walked. Tony just tightened his grip to better support the kid.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve called as they stepped back into the elevator. Tony gave a little wave in return, and Steve shifted his weight awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the _p_. “We’re not inviting you in. We’re full.”

Peter giggled as Steve’s mouth dropped open. “The kid brought me up here, Tony, I have no way to get down-”

“You’re Captain America. Figure it out.” Peter laughed and gave Steve a small wave as the elevator doors began to shut. “Merry Christmas, Cap.”

The last thing Tony saw before the doors shut was Steve’s look of surprise and his open mouth. Tony just laughed and squeezed Peter’s shoulder.

Yeah, there was a reason Tony had prepared dinner for two.

(And, yes, Steve found a way down. Over the sounds of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Christmas music - somehow, the kid made it work - they heard a hearty laugh, and then, a blackout. Steve got back to solid ground, Thor had a multi-realm adventure this Christmas, and Tony needed new lights - but Peter was home.)


	25. Tony surprises Peter for Christmas

When Peter opened his eyes on December 20, he couldn’t get out of bed.

It was Saturday, the first day of winter break, the day he usually started preparing for Christmas. But this year, he’d be preparing for a Christmas without Ben.

_The door to Peter’s bedroom was gently nudged open and Ben poked his head through, eyes soft and voice quiet._

_“Morning, Peter.” Peter groaned and shoved his head into his pillow in the corporeal version of_ five more minutes _. Ben chuckled. “Don’t be like that. Come on, get up. We have to decorate the tree. Your aunt’s already waiting with the ornaments.”_

_Peter didn’t respond, eyes drifting shut. Ben sighed as he left the room, and Peter relaxed, his wishes granted._

_And then, Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s_ Christmas Eve/Sarajevo _began blasting through the apartment._

Peter, half-asleep, smiled at the memory of his uncle’s unique tactics to get him out of bed. For one, no one could sleep through the heavy sounds of guitars, keyboards, drums, and who knows how many other instruments - and secondly, Peter, May, and Ben - they all loved Trans-Siberian Orchestra. It was the only acceptable Christmas music in their apartment.

Trans Siberian Orchestra meant a fun, festive holiday season with family, and even if it was his second family… well, that wasn’t too bad.

But as of February this past year, Peter’s second family had crumbled, and it now lay in tatters. And it wasn’t like Peter had another; this had been his second chance. No family, no Christmas, no joy.

No reason to get out of bed.

“Peter?” May slowly pushed open Peter’s door. “Honey? You awake?”

“No,” Peter groaned, muffled as it was by his pillow. May crossed the room to sit on his bed, running a gentle hand along his shoulder.

“You have two weeks off of school. I say you get up and celebrate.”

“Is the tree up?”

May hesitated. “No.”

“Are the ornaments out?”

“I thought we could do them together.”

Peter groaned as he rolled onto his back and blinked up blearily at May. “I don’t know how to put up the tree.”

May smiled softly, understanding. “Neither do I, but we can figure it out together, right?”

Peter frowned. “I don’t feel like celebrating this year.”

“I know, baby,” she said quietly, running a hand through Peter’s hair before standing. “But maybe this Christmas is just what we need, you know? Something to… get us excited.” She began to step out of the room before she stopped and turned back around. “Hey, does Tony have any family he spends the holiday with?”

Peter pushed himself up to a sitting position upon hearing Tony’s name. “Uh, no.” He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog from his mind. “I mean, he might invite Rhodes and Happy over, but they have their own families. Knowing Tony, he wouldn’t want to bother them.”

“Huh,” May answered, a twinkle in her eyes. Peter squinted at her, questioning.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she called behind her as she turned and left the room.

Peter sighed, watching her leave. He wasn’t going to figure out what she was up to, so he might as well attempt to put up the Christmas tree. It was his first Christmas as a web-swinging vigilante, so he could figure out how to put lights up, right?

\- -

_Any plans for Christmas?_

Tony looked away from the blueprints splayed across his desk to read the text from one May Parker. He couldn’t keep his heartbeat from anxiously quickening when he saw her name. She only really texted to chew him out for something regarding Peter, but he hadn’t seen the kid for at least a week, and he didn’t think they had done anything _too_ illegal, right?

Then, he read the text, and his spine relaxed. He picked up the phone, slightly confused.

_Nothing planned. What about the Parkers?_

It only took May a moment to reply.

_Setting up the tree now. No extended family to see, no dinner plans. Don’t mean to impose - if you’ve got no plans, choose a day and come over? Peter’s off school these next two weeks._

Tony balked as he read the text. He read previous conversations to ensure he was texting the right person.

> _What are you doing with my nephew?_

_You took him to GERMANY?_

_I don’t want him involved in whatever Avengers business you’ve got going on, Stark. The next time I see him coming home with a cut or a bruise-_

Yup. May Parker, as charming as ever.

 _I’d love to_.

It looked like Tony was going to have a Christmas dinner.

\- -

The next five days passed slowly for Peter, dreading the end result - Christmas Day, when Ben would have gotten home from work with whatever gifts May would consult with him to go and buy, with whatever kind of dinner he could afford. (Usually, it was just McDonalds or KFC, but no one ever complained.)

The Christmas tree may be up in their apartment, lights shining, and there may be music, but Peter couldn’t for the life of him find any kind of joy or “Christmas spirit”.

Every day was hard without Ben, but Christmas, the day dedicated to family, was the worst. It carved a hole in Peter’s chest and gave him a pounding headache that no pestering from May to _dress up nice_ or _comb your hair! Take care of yourself! It’s Christmas!_ could alleviate.

At 5:01, the doorbell rang.

Peter lifted his head from where he was staring at the snow gently drifting outside to May, who was preparing dinner with a barely-suppressed smile.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he called drearily, adjusting his dress pants and pulling at the white button-up May made him wear as he stood. May didn’t answer, and he sighed. She must not hear him over Michael Bublé.

Peter trudged toward the door and reached for the handle, fully expecting it to be a vendor he had to tell off. He pulled open the door- and almost jumped back.

Waiting on the other side of the door was Tony Stark, hair perfectly swept to the side, wearing his signature grin as he looked down at Peter, sunglasses gone. In his right hand was a bouquet of roses and in his left, a bottle of wine - and… he was wearing a tuxedo. An honest-to-goodness black tuxedo, with a Grinch tie.

All Peter could do was stare.

“Merry Christmas,” Tony greeted with a laugh. Peter stuttered uncomprehendingly, and Tony grinned. “Your hair is gelled back, for once,” he commented calmly. “It’s not that unruly mess of curls.”

Peter raised a hand to his hair, then pulled it back down, just staring at Tony, who began to blush.

“Geez, kid, it’s not like you see me every week.”

“Peter!” May chastised gently from the kitchen. “Invite him in.”

Peter hurried to step to the side, holding the door open for Tony, just as he found his voice.

“What, uh- what are you doing here?”

“Your aunt invited me.” Tony handed May the flowers and gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting as she backed away with them and prepared a vase of water. He set the wine in the middle of the table, then turned back to Peter. “Is that okay?”

There was a twinkle of humour in his eyes, but Peter saw the seriousness beneath it. If Peter wanted Tony to leave, he’d be gone without complaint.

Peter forced down his confusion and allowed himself a smile. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Tony grinned as he turned to look around the apartment. His eyes caught sight of the fake tree in the corner, branches crooked, lights bunched up, but blinking happily.

“I like the decorations,” he commented.

“Yeah, we, uh, just put it up a few days ago,” Peter answered, a tad nervously, as he moved to stand in line with Tony. “Just… figuring out how.”

Tony knew about Ben. He had met Peter in May, and since then there had been many opportunities for conversation. He knew all about Ben, about his passing, about the role he had in Peter’s life.

Tony lay an arm across Peter’s shoulders. “It looks great.”

Peter couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“Alright, gentlemen,” May called from the stove. “This meal has multiple courses. First up - walnut date loaf.”


	26. Tony finds Peter applied to Oscorp

Peter was… different recently, Tony noticed. He was quieter, eyes flittering away, more anxious and tentative than normal. He checked his phone more often once it got new notifications (every ten minutes, Tony realized with amusement) and he would place it face-down when he was done. Tony just assumed it was just a new partner, a high school fling, and he smiled every time the kid blushed and looked away when Tony raised his brows inquisitively.

But then, he learned the truth, and he stopped smiling.

Peter had just left the lab to get a snack - the poor kid was always so hungry - and Tony caught sight of his phone atop the workbench beside pages of revamped web formulas. He smirked as he slid his chair over. All he wanted to know was the name of the kid that had won his spider-baby’s heart, so he flipped the phone over and checked the notification.

It was from LinkedIn.

There were three messages queued, but the most recent was what caught his eye:

**_Donald Menken_ **

_Oscorp awaits your response, Peter! We’re excited to have your skills on our team!_

Tony almost let the phone slip from his hands.

Peter was in contact with Oscorp? _Oscorp_ , of all companies? Peter was barely sixteen. Sure, he should be starting to look for jobs, but simple ones, like cashier at a fast-food restaurant. And, if he was looking for something more serious, Tony had offered him a job at Stark Industries on _multiple_ occasions - junior engineer on some days, Tony’s personal assistant on others, both offering substantial pay, but he had always turned it down with a chuckle, veering on a scoff. At the time Tony had thought it good-natured, a genuine laugh, but now he wondered if it was mocking.

Did Peter think low of Stark Industries? Did he believe Oscorp to be better? After all, why would he turn down a job at SI for one with… with _Norman_?

Tony dropped Peter’s phone to the desk when he heard the kid approaching with the unmistakable crinkle of a chip bag. He slid back over to his desk and ducked his head down into his current project (at the moment he couldn’t remember exactly what that was or where his progress had ended) as Peter settled at his own desk, giving Tony a nervous smile that he didn’t return, keeping his head ducked behind his computer - but he watched as Peter reached for his phone, flipped it over, and read the text. The kid shook his head minusculy as he began to lower it back to the desk.

“Who’s taking my intern’s attention away from me?” Tony asked without removing his eyes from his work. From his peripherals he saw Peter jump and watched the phone tumble from his hands to the floor below. He blushed as he reached down quickly to receive it and chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s, uh….” he picked it up and turned on the screen once more, rereading the notifications before sighing and turning it off. “May.”

Tony hummed in acknowledgement, his temper beginning to rise. So Peter was something of a traitor, and now he was _lying?_

“What does she want?”

“Oh. Well, she’s- uh, she’s asking… when she should pick me up.”

 _Geez, the kid was a horrible liar_.

Tony smiled humourlessly. “Happy has driven you home literally every lab day for the last two years.”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter chuckled awkwardly. “Guess I forgot.”

Tony allowed Peter to settle back into his work for the next few minutes, giving him a false sense of security before he struck again.

“You’re 16, right, Pete? Got a job yet?”

Peter jumped, and his face paled.

“Oh. Uh- no, Mr. Stark.”

“A position just opened downstairs. Secretary. I was wondering if you’d be interested. You’d get to deal with people - I know you love that, interacting with the general population. Plus, it’s part time. It wouldn’t interrupt school, and you could come down to the lab on your breaks-”

“Oh. Uh… thank you, Mr. Stark, but - but no, thank you,” he stuttered, and Tony sighed, pushing himself around the desk so his own chair was positioned beside Peter’s. The kid looked up, eyes unusually wide, skin too pale. Tony’s own expression was set, arms crossed over his chest, lips pinched together.

He didn’t know how he had let the anger come over him. He didn’t know why seeing the notification had affected him so much, but it felt like Peter was betraying him. Did he think Oscorp’s tech was better? Yeah, that had to be it, Tony thought, ignoring the multiple other fears hidden in his subconscious.

_Peter was tired of him. Peter wanted a new mentor. Peter had conquered one tech giant; it was time to move on to the next._

_Tony wasn’t good enough._

_He never was._

“Why did you apply to Oscorp?” Tony asked quietly, voice still and gaze unflinching. Peter tensed.

“How did you-”

“I saw the notifications.”

Peter’s expression morphed into one of horror. “You read my phone?”

“I was genuinely curious. Your phone’s been blowing up when before you wouldn’t get a single text.” _I care about you. I wanted to make sure everything was okay._ Peter remained silent, looking down nervously. Tony quieted his voice. “Did I make a mistake in inviting you to my private lab, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes went wide, breaths coming out short and panicked. “No, Sir! I wasn’t- I was just looking for jobs.”

Tony pursed his lips. “But you won’t take one at SI.”

Peter dropped his head into his hands, taking deep breaths. Tony held his tongue for a moment, allowing the kid to calm down. When he looked up again, Tony had his arms crossed and was leaning back professionally. He refused to let his emotions show on his face as he said his next words.

“Are you unhappy here, Peter?”

Peter stood quickly. “No. No, definitely not, Mr. Stark, I-I _love_ it here! I really do, and I love being with you- okay, that sounds weird, but you know what I mean - no, wait, you probably don’t. That’s why you’re asking this, but I love working with you and this is _great_ and I wouldn’t change it for the world, I swear!”

Tony watched Peter with slightly narrowed eyes as he paced, not wanting to cut him off like he would’ve done (like he _had_ done) in less important conversations. This time, he would let Peter talk, let him try to explain himself, and piece through the rants to find the valuable information.

“I really enjoy working here, Mr. Stark, and I appreciate it _so_ much. No- you know what, I’m scared you’re about to cut me off right now and it’s embarrassing I say that out loud but that’s one of my worst fears, so screw the filter. I love working here. I love working with and being around you. It’s- it’s my favourite part about being Spider-Man, even above saving all those civilians, and… and that’s why I don’t want to work here.” He looked to Tony nervously, who was forcing his expression to remain neutral, despite the fact that his heart was beating a mile a minute and all he wanted to do was pull Peter into his arms and hug him tight and take back his accusations.

Peter sighed as he fell back into his desk chair.

“I-I do need a job, because… I need to support May.” Peter’s gaze was averted, and Tony knew how difficult it was for him to admit that. “I signed up for LinkedIn. I just wanted to work at McDonald’s or something, but… Oscorp contacted me. They liked the resume I posted, I guess, but I-I never responded. I know they’re, like, your rival, and I would never do that to you- and- and to Stark Industries… but I could never bring myself to turn them down, either.

“I want a job I love, and I _love_ engineering, I really do! And the perfect job for me, my dream job since I was six… it’s been working at SI.” Peter’s voice got quiet, and Tony began to gnaw anxiously on the inside of his cheek. “But I can’t, because if you’re my boss… I don’t want our relationship to change, because I really like where we are now.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“But, here,” he said suddenly, louder, reaching for his phone. “I’ll- I’ll turn them down, right now. This makes you uncomfortable. Letting it go on this long was bad, I-I see now, and I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark. I hope you can forgive me.” He was on the verge of tears, Tony saw, and he hated that _he_ had been the one to cause his kid’s distress.

“Yeah,” Tony said quietly, voice scratchy. “You should turn them down.” Peter was quick to nod, not removing his eyes from his phone as he began to type furiously. “Because you’re already employed.”

Peter froze, looking up at Tony, and the man nodded. “Yup. At Stark Industries. Tony Stark’s personal assistant. I’ve had the paperwork in my desk drawer for months now, all filled in and ready to be processed, just awaiting _your_ signature-”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter stuttered awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t think I can accept-”

“Peter.” Tony leaned forward and let his hand rest atop Peter’s where it sat, clenching the edge of the desk. Peter tensed and leaned away slightly, and Tony guessed he was fighting not to pull away completely. “I think you’ll change your mind once you learn what the position entails. Go on, ask me.”

Peter’s voice was shaky. “What- what does it entail, Sir?”

“Well, first of all, drop the _Sir_. You know I already hate the whole _Mr. Stark_ deal - you really think I’d be comfortable with _Sir_?” His expression softened. “Second, your job as my personal assistant consists of you keeping me company during my times in the lab. You’ll be provided with your own desk and tools to aid me in my projects, and you’ll be allowed to conduct your own, as well. You’ll be allowed to come and go as you wish but you’ll be paid for a full-time position as per a normal work week - very generously, might I add. You’ll have full access to the tower - and, if you wish, you’ll be allowed up in my private office, to attend my meetings, whatever.”

Peter looked confused, but the colour was beginning to return to his face. Tony counted that as a win.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“It’s literally what you’re doing right now, Peter. I’m just going to pay you for it. Our relationship can’t change if there are no shifting variables, right?’

“No. Mr. Stark, that’s very generous, but I can’t accept it, I’m- I’m just an in-”

“If you say _intern_ , Peter, so help me,” Tony scolded gently. “You’re not just an _anything_. You’re way more than an intern. I like having you around. And, you’re here often enough, anyway. Might as well get paid for it. Goodness knows I have money to spare.”

Peter blushed as he looked down. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s my pleasure, kid. But, hey. The position does come with a few requirements.” Peter met Tony’s gaze, eyes wide and serious. “One, you delete LinkedIn right now. Two, you cease all contact with any potential employers from Oscorp.” Peter nodded seriously, and Tony wanted to laugh. He was only half-kidding. “Three… you never leave my side.”

Peter smiled as he nodded once. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	27. Tony doesn’t share food

Tony doesn’t share food.

Everyone in the group knew it. It had been engraved into their brains since day one - no one dare touch Tony’s plate, not even Rhodes, not even Happy, reinforced when Clint tried to steal a fry and had his hand slapped away, when Steve tried to take a piece of steak and Tony went eerily still, just watching him until he retracted his searching fork in fear.

Tony didn’t share food.

And then, Spider-Man came along.

His real name was Peter Parker, the group soon learned, and he was invited to one of their collective dinners, chosen to sit beside Tony at the head of the table. The group hoped he didn’t get too comfortable with the invitation. Sharing worried glances, they all wondered if he knew the rule.

It was a fun night. Stories were shared, jokes were told. And then, Peter reached over where Tony’s hand was resting on his fork to reach for a slice of bread on his plate.

Peter’s searching hand seemed to move in slow motion. The group held their breath. Sam considered stepping in and pulling the kid back, but he didn’t want his hand getting chopped off.

Tony withdrew his hand from his fork and the group collectively flinched, preparing for a-a gentle smack or something - but Tony leaned back in his chair, hands at his sides, still chuckling at the most recent anecdote.

He was giving Peter room.

He was giving Peter _access_ to his plate.

Peter grabbed the bread and began to chew like nothing had happened (because it hadn’t), and Tony reclaimed his fork and began to scoop at the beans on his plate. Slowly, sharing looks of surprise and amusement and admiration and love _(Tony had finally let someone in)_ , they resumed their joyful revelry.

Tony didn’t share food, not with just anyone - but he shared food with Peter Parker.

The group predicted the application for shared guardianship with May a year in advance.


	28. Peter dreams of Tony’s death

Peter watched it happen in slow motion, the sound of rushing water seeming to clog his ears.

He saw a man in a Hydra uniform raise his gun. He saw Tony looking the other way. Peter’s feet were rooted to the pavement. He struggled, but he couldn’t run. He opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no words came out.

The agent took a shot. It hit its mark.

Tony fell to the pavement.

The spell was released, rushing water giving way to a full tidal wave that embodied itself in Peter’s heaved breaths and his quickly-moving feet as he rushed forward to Tony’s side. The Iron Man suit seemed to have retracted, leaving Tony in a three-piece suit entirely in black, lying on his side with his back to Peter. If Peter didn’t know any better, with his stillness and disheveled hair and silence, he’d think Tony was just sleeping.

The dread in his heart told him otherwise.

Peter dropped to his knees at Tony’s side, a sob bubbling up in his throat, making it difficult to breathe and giving him a headache. His hands trembled as he reached for Tony’s side and gently pulled the man over, and he jumped back in shock and horror. There was a large red patch beginning to bloom across Tony’s chest, dampening the fabric.

Peter forced his breaths, in and out, as his eyes focused solely on the wound - then, he noticed movement, and he tore his blurring eyes away to see Tony, looking at him, eyes beginning to dull, but smiling weakly. He lifted a twitching hand and Peter stumbled towards it, grabbing it tightly in two of his own. Tony grimaced, but Peter didn’t care. He wasn’t letting go.

“Peter,” Tony gasped, voice coming out broken. There was a pressure beating down on Peter’s chest and he sobbed. “You’re gonna have to do this next part on your own.”

Peter shook his head vigorously. “No,” he sobbed. “Don’t- don’t leave me-”

“Hey. Kid.” Tony blinked his eyes, slow and lethargic, and Peter knew if he blinked once more, they wouldn’t open again. “I love you.”

His head dropped back, and his eyes glazed over as he looked up at the sky and took his last breath.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter sobbed, wrapping his arms around Tony’s limp body and beginning to shake him gently. “Mister- _Tony_. Tony, don’t go- _please_ , I can’t do this without you….”

Peter continued to ramble, words incoherent and mixed with sobs as he bent his head to rest it on Tony’s chest, Tony’s _cold_ chest, as it lay still, the absence of his heartbeat causing Peter’s to escalate.

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t do this.

 _He can’t do this_ -

Peter woke with a start, bolting upright in his bed, hands searching wildly for purchase. He was soaked with sweat and his heart was beating so loud, he wondered if the neighbors heard it. At least May wouldn’t; she was working an extra shift at the hospital. He was home alone.

His throat was raw - he must’ve been snoring. Or speaking.

Or screaming.

Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them, crying silently. It was a dream - it had to be, right? All evidence indicated it.

But it felt so _real_.

Before he knew what he was doing Peter reached for his phone on the bedside table and sent a text to Tony, eyes widening with each passing, agonizing second it took him to open the messaging app and type. What if the dream _was_ real? What if Tony was really-

_Mr. Stark_

The second Peter hit _send_ , he dropped his phone to his mattress in defeat and buried his face in his hands as embarrassment overcame him. For one, this was immature. It was a _dream_. There was no doubt about it, and so there was no reason to worry. He was acting like a child looking for comfort from his parents when he woke from a nightmare. Second, it was four-thirty. In the _morning_. Why would Tony be awake this early? Why would he respond to a stupid teenager’s text? This was stupid. And embarrassing. And he shouldn’t have done it-

_Hey kid, what’s up?_

Peter froze as he read the text, one part confused that Tony had even responded… and one part _relieved_ , he was reluctant to admit.

Tony was alive. He was _fine_.

_I just wanted to say hi :) Are you okay?_

Three dots. Tony was typing… then, they disappeared, before appearing once more just moments before a message was received.

_Right as rain._

Followed quickly by another-

_Nightmare?_

Peter groaned, feeling the heat of a blush grow on his face. Of course Tony figured it out, and now he thought Peter was a child. A stupid child he shouldn’t waste his time with.

_Yeah. Sorry Ill stop bothering you_

Tony’s response was almost immediate.

_Not a bother. Want me to head over? May’s out tonight, right?_

Peter froze. Tony… _didn’t_ want to leave him? 

Head reeling with that fact, alongside the realization that Tony actually _listened_ when Peter rambled and remembered May’s work schedule, Peter typed back a response.

_No thx. Sorry. Dont worry Im fine_

_Too late. I’m already half way over._

Peter bolted upright. Over half way. With the distance between the tower and Peter’s apartment, that meant Tony was taking the _suit_.

He was literally coming to Peter’s rescue.

_Mr. Stark are you bringing the suit_

All Tony sent in return was a winking face.

Peter sighed as he lay back on his mattress. As embarrassing as this was, as much as he hated himself right now… he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It… it felt nice to be loved.

And not a moment later, Tony was knocking on the Parker’s front door.

Peter practically ran through the apartment, skidding around corners, to reach it and pulled it open. His heart seemed to stop in his chest.

He’d woken about ten minutes ago. He’d had time to relax, so he didn’t know why seeing the man’s face in jeans and a graphic-tee brought the dream to the forefront of his mind and tears to his eyes. He was barreling into Tony and enveloping him in a hug before he realized as much and could stop himself, and Tony’s reaction was instant, wrapping his arms around Peter and guiding them inside so he could nudge the door closed behind him. He leaned back against the door as he held Peter, the boy sobbing against his chest. He began to weave his fingers through Peter’s curls in an attempt to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’m here. I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re all good, right?” Peter nodded against his chest, cries never easing. Tony moved his hand to run circles along Peter’s back as he began to hum, a slow song his mother had sang for him when he woke up with nightmares. Peter quieted almost instantly and just listened, never once loosening his grip - but that was fine for Tony.

He continued to hum until Peter slumped against him and Tony was supporting most of his weight. He guided them to the floor, rocking them back and forth as they sat and Peter drifted into a quiet sleep.

May returned to the apartment at six in the morning to the sight of her nephew and the world’s richest man, asleep against her kitchen cabinets.


	29. “I need you to try. For me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mental illness; implied depression & suicidal thoughts

Peter was tired. He was always tired, day in and day out. The sky was gray. Bird songs sounded more like distress calls. He couldn’t find a reason to continue.

Peter knew he should talk to someone. He knew he needed help, but the constant pressure on his chest grew heavier whenever he tried to force the words out, depriving himself of breath.

It was a good thing Tony didn’t need words.

It had been three weeks since Peter realized he needed help, three weeks of difficulty breathing and heavy limbs and the inability to get out of bed in the morning, three weeks that felt like three years, when Tony finally pulled him aside.

It was a lab day after school, one where the time passed without Peter acknowledging it, one where he caught himself, more than once, just staring down, motionless, at his unfinished project, his mind having wandered to a place he not dare follow.

He heard Tony sigh and looked up in time to see the man lean back in his chair, watching him with a careful gaze.

“Alright, kid, out with it. What’s been going on in your little teenage mind these past few weeks?”

Peter smiled, but it felt fake. There was something in Tony’s face he couldn’t quite identify. It didn’t exactly match the levity of his tone.

Peter leaned back in his chair and shrugged in nonchalance, even as his heartbeat quickened. Did Tony know how… how _screwed up_ he was? Could he tell? Could Peter even confide in him? And if he did… what would Tony think?

“Little teenage things,” he answered, swallowing thickly to bury his fears. Tony smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sounds ominous. Like what?” Peter’s mouth went dry, and he couldn’t think of an excuse. Panic began to etch its way into his mind. If Tony found out… would he kick Peter out? He wouldn’t let someone as _screwed up_ as Peter anywhere near him, right?

“Mind if I give it a shot?” Tony asked quietly. Peter nodded, leaning away unsurely as Tony began to lean in closer. “You’ve been quiet, kid. You’re pale. Your hands… they quiver, and as far as I know this isn’t a post-party hangover. You’re too good for that, so….”

Tony fell silent, leaving the conclusion unsaid, his words of careful compassion taking form as an overwhelming pressure in Peter’s throat, blocking his windpipe and bubbling to the surface as tears. Tony was there to catch Peter as he fell, cradling the boy’s drooping head against his shoulder and holding him tightly as he began to cry.

“Spot on, huh?” Tony teased quietly, but not unkindly, as he gently rubbed circles on the small of Peter’s back.

“It’s… it’s hard, Mr. Stark.”

“What is?” Tony soothed, not relaxing his hold on the kid.

“I dunno.” Peter sniffled. “I-I don’t like any of the things I used to. I just… I can’t find joy anymore. In anything. And I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and- and the sky is gray.” Peter pulled back, looking at Tony with wide, tearful eyes. “Was it always gray?”

Tony tugged Peter back toward him, allowing his head to rest in the crook of Tony’s neck.

“It’s alright,” Tony hummed, breathing deeply. “It’s… we’ll figure it out, okay? I promise you. Just… hold on. Keep going.”

Peter shook his head against Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can, Mr. Stark,” he whispered.

Tony’s grip tightened around his shoulders.

“Nope. Not an option. I can’t lose you, Pete. I-I don’t know what I’d do.” Tony pulled away, reaching his hands up to cup Peter’s face. As he watched Peter’s tears fall he felt one of his own hit his cheek.

“You have to try,” Tony whispered. “Alright? I need you to try. For me. You can’t give up.” Peter pinched his lips together in doubt. Tony tightened his grip on Peter’s chin. “I mean it, Parker. You can’t leave me.” He quieted his voice, hands falling slack and voice soft. “Okay?”

Peter hesitated a moment before nodding shakily. “Okay,” he whispered. “It’s… it’s going to be hard, but I’ll try.”

Tony nodded vigorously, a mix of desperation and relief seeping into his features. “Please,” he whispered. “That’s all I ask. Just… try.”


	30. “The only way you’re going to stop me is to physically restrain me. / You can’t. I won’t let you. … I’ll stop you. / Don’t you dare.”

“Parker, don’t you _dare_ walk out that door.”

Peter froze, his fingers inches from the handle and anger beginning to boil through his veins.

“I can’t give up on her, Mr. Stark.”

“You didn’t _give up_ on her!” Tony shouted from somewhere behind Peter, evidently frustrated. Peter refused to turn around. “That culprit was beating you within an inch of your life! You’re lucky I saved you and brought you back here before he could finish you off!”

Peter whirled around, small flames beginning to burn behind his eyes and the Spider-Man mask clenched in his tightening fist as he glared at Tony, who had his arms crossed across his chest and his chin raised.

“Oh, I’m _lucky_ , am I?” Peter snarled, beginning to stalk forward. “It’s my job to save her, but thanks to you, her assailant is still out there, probably doing… I don’t even want to _think_ about what he’s doing to her as we speak!”

Tony exhaled heavily through his teeth. “I called the cops, Parker. They’ll stop the guy. They’ll make sure she’s safe-”

“The cops aren’t fast enough!” Peter shouted, turning sharply and talking fast steps toward the door.

“You can’t go back out there, Peter! He’s stronger than you! Hell, he almost _won!_ I won’t let you destroy yourself like this.” A heavy pause. “I’ll stop you.”

Peter chuckled humorlessly, turning back around to face Tony. “The only way you’re going to stop me is to physically restrain me.”

Tony squared his jaw. “If that’s what it takes.”

Peter straightened his spine and cocked his head to the side. “Let’s see who’s faster.”

In a beat Peter had a hand on the handle behind him. The door was half way open before he stilled and went tumbling to the ground, lifeless. Tony stood behind him, chest heaving and breathing heavy, his gauntleted hand raised, suspended, as he looked down sadly at Peter.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered, looking down at Peter’s tangled limbs on the floor. “You’ll sleep off the stun in a few minutes… but I can’t have you going back out there.”

He let the nanobots crawl their way back into the arc reactor sitting over his heavy heart as he leaned over Peter’s body to gently push the door closed, then settled down against the wall to await Peter’s rouse.


	31. “Are you afraid… of me?”

Tony raced through the house, hastily and lawlessly checking all rooms he came across, shouting for Peter. He knew Sam and Steve found and would take care of whatever idiots were stupid enough to take his kid. Now, it was Tony’s job to find said kid.

It hadn’t even been two hours since he had been taken, fifteen minutes since the ransom video was sent, and Tony was already _livid_.

He couldn’t live without his kid. And so, the minute Tony ensured Peter was safe and sound… the culprit would pay.

But for now, Tony had just stepped down to the basement… and caught sight of the kid on the floor in the centre of the room, kneeling, hands cuffed to the ground in front of him with a length of chain not even long enough to allow him to stand.

All anger in Tony’s veins was flushed away and his legs began to tremble in trepidation as he stumbled out of his suit, hurrying toward Peter.

The boy scrambled back.

The chain around his wrists pulled taunt and Peter’s breath quickened in fear as he looked down at it before his eyes flew fearfully back up to Tony’s.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Peter looking so… so _broken._

“I’m here,” Tony gasped, tears beginning to fall as he stumbled forward. “Shit, Peter, I’m so sorry, but we- we got the guy who took you. He’s gone-” When Tony finally looked up from his rant he was standing above Peter, reaching for the boy… but Peter was _trembling_.

His eyes were wide and so full of _fear_ , Tony fell backward.

Peter watched him, frozen, mouth agape, and for a moment all Tony could do was the same.

“Pe… Peter?” he whispered, voice shaking. “He’s gone, Pete, we got him. It’s… It’s just me. I’m here.” Peter didn’t move, and Tony felt as though his heart was being carved out of his chest. “Are… are you afraid… of _me?_ ”

Tony held his breath, and, ever so slowly, barely there… Peter… _nodded_.

 _Fuck_.

It had only been two hours.

What the hell had they done to his kid?

“Peter,” Tony gasped. “Peter, kiddo, it’s me. It’s… it’s Dad. I swear I’d never hurt you, Peter. Please….” Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, and he allowed himself a moment of weakness before they opened again, still and more calm. (At least, in their appearance.)

“Can I come closer to you, Peter? Is that okay?”

Hesitantly, Peter nodded, and Tony crept forward in a sort-of crawl until Peter was within arm’s reach. He still hadn’t relaxed his position, leaning as far away from Tony as the chains would allow him to.

“Can I take these off?” Tony asked quietly, gesturing to the chains. Peter nodded and Tony got to work immediately, allowing nanobots to crawl from their housing unit to form the most minor gauntlet possible to snap the chains. As soon as they were off Peter flew to the far corner of the room, breathing heavily as he tucked his knees to his chest and just watched Tony.

Tony froze, hands still suspended over the fallen chains, taking a shaky breath as he gazed across the room at Peter.

“Kid,” he whispered, but he knew Peter heard him. “Please, I… it’s Dad. I won’t hurt you, I swear to you.” Peter didn’t move. “I’m sorry I let them take you. Never… never again. Just… come back to me. Please.”

Hesitantly, Peter inched forward, out of the corner, taking slow steps until he was almost at Tony - and then, all at once, he flew forward into Tony’s arms, sudden tears springing to his eyes.

“Dad?” he asked shakily as Tony caught him and held him tight.

“Yeah,” Tony gasped as he held Peter to his chest, one hand weaving into Peter’s curls and holding him as close as possible. “Yeah, baby, it’s me. It’s Dad. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’ll never let you go again.”


	32. “I warned you not to lie.”

Peter stumbled into the top floor of Stark tower at - two? three? - in the morning, suit crumpled and dirty, which was no cause for concern, at least, from what Tony had seen.

Peter had two months off of school for summer, one week of which he was spending with Tony for the “internship”. Coming home late was normal, expected, really, and Tony allowed it, because a. he knew it was summer and Peter had earned the right to stay up late attending the occasional party, and b. he knew Peter wasn’t partying. He wouldn’t be one to keep Peter from bettering the city.

“What was it this time?” Tony called to Peter as he stumbled, half-asleep, into the kitchen. He always woke to meet Peter when the kid snuck in through the window after a night of patrolling. Tonight, something was different, but Tony didn’t notice.

It was too dark to notice Peter’s wide eyes, his pale skin, his trembling fingers.

“Um….” Peter mumbled, looking down at the floor - though, he seemed to be looking somewhere through it. “I…. Robbery.”

Tony rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” Peter confirmed, eyes on the floor and his voice trembling. Tony took a slow step forward to place his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Don’t lie to me, Peter,” he said softly and not unkindly. “You’re out there, doing dangerous stuff every night. I want to know the truth, every bit of it, okay?”

“That- that is the truth.”

“Are you sure?”

Peter nodded, sniffling. Tony placed a finger under Peter’s chin and gently lifted it, forcing Peter to make eye contact. “I warned you not to lie, kiddo.”

Peter took a shaky breath, and tears began to fall. Tony lifted a gentle hand to cup Peter’s cheek.

“Hey. You’re alright. Can you talk to me? Tell me what happened? Did-” He swallowed thickly. “Did someone get hurt?”

Peter shook his head, stepping back. Tony let his hands fall.

“Almost.” Tony waited, not saying a word. Peter swiped an arm over his eyes. “It… _was_ a robbery. The bank was supposed to be closed, empty, but there was still an employee….” Peter trailed off, eyes and attention fixed somewhere Tony couldn’t see. “He was so young, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered. “Just older than me. Didn’t even seem old enough to be working there, but he was in a suit, trying to look that much more mature.” Peter shook his head. “He shouldn’t have been there.”

Tony shifted his weight, fighting to keep his anxiety at bay. Peter said no one had been hurt, so there was nothing time-sensitive to take care of, except for maybe Tony’s delicate heart.

“I caught the robber heading to the vaults,” Peter continued quietly, voice harrowed. “I stopped him, and he turned back. He ran and he… he dove behind the counters, and when he came out… he had the kid, and the gun… he was holding the gun to his head.”

Peter sniffled, dropping his head. “I mean, it doesn’t seem that bad now, I guess, and you deal with worse every single day-”

Tony moved forward, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders and ducking his head.

“Were you scared?” Peter looked up at Tony, confused. “When this happened, when you saw it, were you scared?” Peter’s eyes widened marginally in memory and he nodded. “Then it was bad. I believe that it was scary, Pete, I do. You don’t have to defend what you’re feeling, especially not to me.” Peter sniffled and nodded in acknowledgement. “Did it end well?”

“Yeah. I, um, I webbed him up, waited until the police got there.”

“And the kid?”

Peter took a deep breath. “Shaken. He was really scared. Really grateful, but….” Peter blew out a puff of air.

“You’re exhausted,” Tony stated, murmuring it as he pulled Peter closer into a hug. “How about we get you cleaned up and into bed, alright, things will seem better in the morning.”

Peter sighed, disbelieving. “Alright.”

Tony chuckled, beginning to guide Peter to the spare bedroom, which had been fully decorated and which might as well be called “Peter’s room” by now. “Yeah, I never believed that line, either. But at least it can’t bother you while you’re asleep.”

“I’m so grateful for that.”


	33. Tony has a PTSD-induced outburst with Peter nearby

They were in the lab when it happened.

Peter hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, but when he finally looked up from his own project to see Tony’s desk was empty, he was prompted to check the time.

3:00 a.m. That was his new record.

Peter scanned the room, finding Tony lying on one of the couches placed in the corner near the mini fridge, curled in on himself. Peter yawned as he stood and crept toward Tony, grabbing a red blanket from the back of the couch on the way. He slowly moved to unravel it over Tony, blinking through bleary eyes as he tried not to pass out, planning to lay down himself - maybe in his desk chair? - after he confirmed Tony was comfortable.

Peter gently lay down the blanket, placing it just beneath Tony’s chin.

Tony’s eyes snapped open, and his hand shot up to grab Peter’s wrist.

Peter looked down at him, unsure. “Mr. Stark?” he whispered. “Sorry, I thought you might’ve been cold-”

In an instant Tony sat upright and shoved Peter away from him, moving quickly to deliver a second blow to the unstable boy and knocking him to the ground. Peter fell back in shock, head hitting the floor with a heavy _thud_ and beginning to throb. Peter’s vision blacked out, and he was unable to see the forearm place itself over his chest and the hand reach around his neck, until he couldn’t breathe.

Peter forced the black spots away, blinking rapidly as he fought for air. His arms flailed, but he forced himself to control his strength - he _couldn’t_ hurt Tony, who he could now see… _wasn’t_ Tony. His eyes were wide and red, his jaw clenched. Peter could see the veins in his neck straining.

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter gasped, reaching his hands to Tony’s own, but he knew he couldn’t save himself without injuring Tony. Tony’s grip only tightened around Peter’s neck.

Peter’s arms grew weak as he hit them against Tony’s chest. He didn’t think he could fight his way out now if he wanted to.

“Tony,” he gasped. “It’s me, it’s Peter, I-”

His voice grew quieter. He was running out of air.

For one painful moment, with his vision fading and his chest tight and his limbs too weak to lift a finger, Peter feared this might be it.

And then, all of a sudden, the pressure lessened.

Peter curled in on himself, gasping as he sucked in air. From the corner of his eye he watched Tony stumble back and away from him, eyes the size of saucers.

The moment Peter found himself halfway able to function, he forced himself up to a sitting position, chest aching. He caught sight of Tony, standing behind the couch’s armrest, as to put a barrier between himself and Peter. He was staring down at his own trembling hands, before his wide eyes rose to meet Peter’s, and he took another unstable step back.

“Mis-” Peter stopped when his voice came out as a whisper and cleared his throat. It didn’t help. “Mister Stark?”

Tony didn’t speak, skin pale, chest heaving. For a moment, the two only stared at each other. Peter slowly moved to stand.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, voice trembling. Peter didn’t hesitate to nod.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Are you?”

Tony shook his head. “I’m… not the one who almost got asphyxiated. _Shit_.” Tony turned sharply, walking to the wall with his back to Peter. He raised his hands to his forehead, pushing through his hair.

Tony turned back around. “Do you need a doctor? I-I can call someone, should probably-”

“Tony, I’m fine.” Peter walked around the couch, coming to a stop a couple of steps away from Tony, who watched him warily. “What was that?”

Tony groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at them furiously. “Nightmares.”

“Like, PTSD.” Tony nodded stiffly. “Of when?”

“Does it matter?” Tony snapped, throwing his hands down and fixing Peter with a stern glare. Peter didn’t move and Tony sighed, turning away from him once more.

“Sorry. Shit, kid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. You… you shouldn’t have seen that.”

Peter exhaled, looking around the room, _anywhere_ but at Tony, suddenly wide awake.

“Do you have a therapist?”

“Yeah,” Tony answered from somewhere near the opposite corner of the room. “He’s not really equipped to deal with… with _my_ level of issues, though.”

“But does he help?”

“A little bit, I guess.”

Peter searched for something to say. He came up with nothing. “That’s good.”

Tony finished his pacing and returned to drop onto the couch, placing his head in his hands. Peter took a seat beside him, but not close enough to touch him. He wanted to give Tony all the space he needed.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Tony said quietly, muffled.

Peter shrugged, at a loss for words. “I… I’m sorry you have to experience it.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony sighed. “It comes with the job.” He looked up at Peter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Are you?”

“I could’ve killed you, Peter-”

“And you’re internally killing _yourself_ ,” Peter shot back. “Look, stop worrying about me. It’s just a physical injury. It doesn’t matter-”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“ _You_ can’t keep living like this, Tony! And not because you can hurt those around you, it’s because of the damage you’re doing to _yourself_. This isn’t normal, and you can’t keep going on, believing it is.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?” Tony demanded, throwing his arms up.

Peter shook his head. “I dunno. But you need to get help. This is going to wear away at you if you don’t.”

Tony didn’t respond. Peter sighed, standing and moving to retrieve his backpack, collecting his books from his desk. Tony watched him sadly.

“I should get home,” Peter said quietly. “Maybe I’ll surprise May with breakfast in the morning.” He didn’t look back as he headed for the door.

“Peter.”

Peter turned just as he reached for the handle.

“I’m so sorry. And I know that can’t even begin to-”

“It’s okay,” Peter consoled with a faint smile. “I know you you’d never hurt me.”

Peter pulled the door open and left, leaving the response unspoken as Tony dropped his head into his hands.

_I almost did._


	34. Peter learns how Tony met Carol

When Carol flew to the Avengers compound, she didn’t expect to see a kid, lying face up on the lawn, stargazing.

The kid followed her track though the sky as she approached, stumbling quickly to his feet, then watching with wide eyes as she landed in front of him. Carol smiled as she took a step closer.

“Peter Parker,” she greeted, remembering him from the battle that had happened just a month ago.

“You’re cool,” Peter blurted, amazed. He froze as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes somehow growing wider. “Uh, I mean, hi.”

Carol laughed. “Thanks.”

“You’re- you’re Captain Marvel, right? Tony told me about you.”

Carol took a step closer, offering Peter her hand. “Carol Danvers.”

Peter took it, seeming starstruck. Carol smirked, zapping his hand lightly. Peter jumped back, eyes alight with awe.

“ _So. cool_ ,” he whispered.

“I don’t suppose we met properly on the battlefield. What’s your gimmick, Peter?”

Peter attempted to stand taller. Still, Carol towered over him.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

Carol smiled. “Very cool. Hey, speaking of Tony, is he around?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, he’s just inside. In his lab, I think.” Peter began to lead the way, constantly looking behind him with a wide-eyed stare that he failed to be discreet about.

“Why are you here?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Just checking in, seeing how he’s doing.”

Peter nodded as he led the way into the building, bright white lights providing a stark contrast to the late night darkness outside. “So how do you, uh, know Tony?”

Carol followed Peter, taking in the compound that was now under construction, but being rebuilt quickly and a lot larger than she had seen it last time.

“We met just after the blip - I rescued him from space - and then we killed Thanos. Five years later, we met again on the battlefield, and that was it-”

Peter froze, Carol quickly coming to a stop before she bumped into him. She looked down at Peter in confusion, seeing that his face had grown pale, his brow furrowing.

“Rescued from space….” He muttered, as if in thought. Suddenly, he gasped. “Titan. Gosh, I never asked-” Peter swallowed thickly, turning back to Carol. He looked sickly pale, and Carol had the sudden urge to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him safe until he felt better.

When Peter spoke again, his voice was trembling. “What do you mean, _rescue_ him?”

Carol thought for a minute, the temporary fluorescent lights flickering above them.

“He was in this ship,” Carol began slowly, trying to remember. “Floating through space, with a woman… Nebula, I believe her name was. The ship was almost out of fuel, and Tony was just… sitting there. In the pilot’s seat. He was really frail….” Carol sighed, meeting Peter’s horrified stare, his face growing paler by the minute. She stopped suddenly. “I just guided the ship back to Earth. He was fine, Peter,” Carol added with a smile. “He healed quickly.”

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly, and turning to continue to lead Carol to Tony. His jaw was clenched, and he was no longer looking back at her with awe.

He was determined. He was _worried_.

Carol wondered if she had said too much.

Peter finally came to a stop in a room Carol had seen once before, desks and computers scattered throughout, and one man at the centre of it all. He looked up as they approached.

“Danvers!” Tony greeted, standing immediately. Carol smiled, wanting to move forward, but unwilling to leave Peter alone in his shaken state. “How’s the arm? Any lasting effects-”

“What happened after I got dusted?” Peter interrupted sharply, voice shaking. Carol saw Tony’s face pale and he took a minor step back. Carol attempted to hurry to his side, but he held a hand up, stopping her.

“What are you asking?” Tony asked quietly, all welcoming comradery gone.

“After I got dusted, what did you do? How did you get back to Earth?”

Carol watched quietly, wondering why this question was so deeply plaguing Peter, why Tony was so shaken by it… what exactly their relationship was.

“I… Pete, I don’t think it matters. I got here. You’re back.” He faked a smile, but it looked painful. “There’s nothing to worry about-”

“ _How_ , Tony?”

Tony took a deep breath, gnawing on his lower lip. He moved back to sit in his desk chair.

“Nebula and I… tried to rebuild the Benatar. We did the best we could, but….” Tony exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “Peter, please, it’s not relevant-”

“Mr. Stark.” Tony looked up sharply at the use of the name. Carol caught Peter blinking back tears - there was a history behind it she wasn’t aware of. There was a history behind these two as a whole that intrigued her, but she wondered if she should even be around to witness this. No one had kicked her out yet; no one seemed to even acknowledge she was there.

“The fuel cells were damaged,” Tony whispered, not once breaking eye contact with Peter. He was retelling this story, divulging this traumatic information, for Peter, and for Peter alone. “We barely had enough food. Water ran out pretty quick… oxygen not long after.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I fell asleep one night, fully expecting not to wake up… and if I did, well….” He smiled. “I thought I would see you.”

Peter raised a hand to cover his mouth, blinking back tears. Tony just shook his head.

“There was a bright light, and suddenly Ms. Danvers was there, my hero.” He looked up at her, nodding his appreciation. She returned it stiffly, surprised to find her own eyes beginning to fill with tears.. “She brought the ship back to earth. I recovered. That… that was it.”

Carol turned to look at Peter. His jaw was clenched and his hands were in fists at his side. He hadn’t moved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered harshly. Tony frowned.

“There was no reason to. You were _back_ , Pete. That was all that mattered. That’s all that’s _ever_ going to matter-”

“I would’ve liked to know. Tony, you almost _died_.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said quietly, smiling. “Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

Peter shook his head. “That’s not funny.”

“Okay. Alright. I’m sorry.” Tony sucked in a breath. “But I’m okay now. You’re okay now, and we’re both here. Is that enough?”

Peter hesitated a moment before nodding finally, sniffling. “Yeah.”

Tony smiled. “Good.” He stood and held open his arms. “Come here.”

Peter stumbled forward and accepted Tony’s invitation, wrapping his arms gently around Tony and tucking his head under his chin. Tony closed his eyes as he held Peter close, taking a deep breath.

Carol moved out of the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb them, or interrupt any longer. She had heard what she needed to hear - the pain of the gauntlet, the physical and mental toll, it had all been worth it.

This was what she had saved. This was what she had protected.

She didn’t regret a thing.

As she pulled open the door to leave, she heard a quiet, “ _Glad to know we’re finally there now_.”

Tony laughed just as the door fell shut. “I’d like to see someone try to stop these hugs.”

Carol retreated through the compound, smiling softly to herself.

She would return to visit Tony another day.

For now, he had a more important visitor.


	35. First time asking for help, first 3 AM call

Natasha picked up on the first ring, voice scratchy. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Natasha?”

“ _Who’s this?_ ”

“It’s Spider-Man.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“… Peter Parker.”

“ _Oh, Tony’s kid. Why are you calling? It’s 3 AM._ ”

Peter looked through the Spider-Man lenses at the compacted space he was stuck in, lying on his side. “Um… I kinda need help.”

“ _What kind of help? Should I call Ton-_ ”

“ _No_.” Peter groaned as the vehicle he was stuck in the trunk of went over a bump. “You can’t call Mr. Stark. I just - there were these guys, and I was fighting them off, right? It was really cool, and then this other dude, he had, like, come out of nowhere, and he had this syringe and he just stabbed it in my neck! Totally uncool! But I fell asleep, and I just woke up, and I’m pretty sure I’m in the trunk of a car, but I’m super weak. It must’ve been whatever was in the syringe.”

He heard Natasha sigh from the other end of the line, before the sounds of shuffling. “ _So you want me to come save you._ ”

“No! No, I don’t need _saving_ , because I can fight these guys off, but, like, I don’t know if the Avengers want to take them into custody, you know?”

“ _Hmm. Well, Tony usually takes care of that aspect of the job, so-_ ”

“Fine. Yes, I need help. Please don’t call Mr. Stark.”

“ _Honesty’s always the best policy, kid. Alright, are you in your suit?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Good. I can track you. Let me just consult Friday-_ ” Peter heard Friday’s muffled voice on the other end of the line. “ _I’ll be right there, Peter. Hang tight. If you’re weak and outnumbered, don’t cause trouble._ ”

“I’m not _weak_ \- wait, the car’s coming to a stop.”

“ _Don’t hang up. I want to be able to hear and talk to you, but don’t respond._ ”

Peter didn’t have the chance to confirm as the trunk opened.

A woman was waiting there and pulled him out by his elbows, his wrists bound in front of him with steel. It was irritating that he couldn’t break it, but whatever they had given him was strong. Even his thoughts were muddled, just enough that he couldn’t think to his normal prodigy standards.

“Look, Spider-Man, this is nothing personal,” the woman said as she began to push Peter toward the woods she had parked beside. “My buddies have some business in the city. We can’t have you interfering.”

“ _Get a good look at her face to identify her later_ ,” Natasha said in his ear. “ _Stay quiet. Don’t cause trouble. I’m almost there._ ”

Peter bit down on his lip to keep from responding to Natasha, or from making a retort to this woman, this woman with blond hair and what he could identify as brown eyes in the poor, early-morning light. He wanted to do _something_. She was just mortal; Peter should be able to-

He tried to kick his leg at the woman, but she sidestepped and slammed her heel into the back of Peter’s stabilizing leg. He fell with a grunt.

“Quiet today, are we?” the woman taunted, and Peter snarled as she began to drag him to a nearby tree.

“ _Don’t say anything. I’m almost there_.”

The woman swiftly unlocked Peter’s handcuffs. He tried to swing at her, but his movements were sluggish, and she caught his wrist in her hand, pulling it back behind the tree. She reattached his cuffs behind the stump he was sitting with his back to. The woman stepped away and looked down at him.

“Who would’ve thought a large dose of morphine would be all it took to take down Spider-Man?”

“ _Don’t you dare respond, Parker-_ ”

“This is just morphine? Rookie move. You know, with my advanced metabolism, this should be wearing off in _seconds_ , and then-”

A punch to Peter’s temple shut him up.

“Yeah,” the woman said as she stepped back toward her vehicle. “Come find me when that happens.”

Natasha cursed over Peter’s comms - except, her rambling was growing louder with every angry word.

She had arrived.

“Simple instructions,” she said as she ran into Peter’s line of sight, sending a kick to the woman’s chest. She fell, but before Natasha could continue her pursuit the woman sent a sweeping kick to her legs. Natasha crashed back onto the floor.

“Say, nothing,” Natasha gasped as she flipped back up onto her feet, just in time to see the woman climb into her car. Natasha cursed as she chased after it.

“ _Hey!_ ” Peter shouted. “Untie me!”

Natasha planted her feet and pulled her pistol from its holster, only taking a second to aim, before shooting out one of the back tires. The car skid off the road, and Natasha sprinted after it.

“This is your punishment,” she said, her voice beginning to fade, and returning over the comms. “ _Spiders who are bad get put in time out_.”

Peter scoffed under his breath. “Funny,” he muttered. “That’s just what Mr. Stark said before he grounded me.”

“And why didn’t you listen?”

The sound of repulsors above him caused Peter to swear under his breath. “Huh. Tied to a tree. Is this what I’m going to have to do to keep you in the house, Parker? Seriously?”

Peter dropped his head, muttering into his comms. “Narc.”

“Actually, Natasha didn’t call me. She was too busy chasing after _you_.”

“And now I could use a ride to the city,” Natasha called as she walked back through the bushes. “Baddie number one is down, but I figured out where her buddies are going to hit. I could really use some transportation.”

Tony stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, preparing to lift off. Peter kicked his legs out like a child. “Hey! What about me?”

“ _You_ are fine right there,” Tony chided Peter as he began to lift off the ground. “If the drugs wear off before I return, and they’re _harmless_ , so I feel no guilt leaving you here under their influence, I expect you to swing right back to the tower, or you’ll be grounded until you die.”

“Oh, come on. If that’s the worst case scenario, what happens if I actually listen?”

“Grounded until you’re fifty.”

Peter groaned, letting his head fall back against the bark as Iron Man and the Black Widow lifted off into the sky.


	36. First time calling them family

**Attempt #1**

Peter was jostled out of his chemist mindset when Tony leaned back in his desk chair and looked up at him from across their lab tables.

“Do you have any plans for this Monday?”

Peter barely looked up from his project as he shrugged.

“I’m off school, but I have a math test and an English presentation on Tuesday, so I’ll probably be studying for those.”

“Why are you off school?”

“Teacher’s training day or something. I don’t know.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “And what about for dinner?”

Peter paused, looking up at him. “I dunno. We have a frozen pizza. I might heat that up.”

“That’s it?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Yeah….”

Tony nodded once and continued his work with a new intensity. Peter shrugged and went back to his own project.

**Attempt #2**

“Does May work any extra shifts?”

“Um…” Peter wasn’t entirely focused on Tony’s words, his eyes fixed on The Lord of the Rings playing on the tower’s flat-screen t.v. “Mondays and Wednesdays, I think. Sometimes Thursdays.”

“Even holidays?”

Peter leaned forward subconsciously, as if to hear the movie better. “I think so. If they need her.”

Tony nodded once, his brow furrowed.

“What about this Monday-”

“Shh, Gollum’s about to appear.”

Tony dropped the subject.

**Attempt #3**

“It’s just you and May, right?” Tony called up to where Peter was training with the monkey bars hanging from the ceiling of the Avengers’ gym.

Peter huffed as he flipped backwards and grabbed onto a bar with one hand. “What?”

“Do you have other family? Any distant relatives?”

Peter pulled himself up to perch atop one of the bars, before sprinting precariously across them. He leapt to the far wall and stuck there. “I don’t think so. It’s just me and May, but we’re enough for each other.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully as Peter used his webs to swing across the contraption. “So you haven’t seen anyone recently? No plans to see them soon?”

“Are you looking for a hookup? I have to warn you, I don’t think May would be on board with that-”

“No.” Tony chuckled, dropping his head amongst Peter’s giggles from above. “You know what, nevermind.”

**Attempt #4**

“How do you like my cooking?”

Peter looked up from the plate of chicken parmesan Tony had created for him, that had been haphazardly placed in the centre of his lab bench.

“It’s good,” Peter praised around a mouthful. “I mean, I’m not all that hungry - I wasn’t really expecting you to make anything-”

“Do you think May will enjoy it?”

Peter looked up skeptically at Tony’s expectant expression. “I guess? It’s definitely good.”

“So if she, I don’t know, came over for dinner-”

Peter blanched. “ _That’s_ my relative you were trying to hook up with?”

“No!” Tony’s shocked expression morphed into one of humor at Peter’s horrified features, and he threw his head back and laughed. “No, I’m just… just asking a question. Do you think she’d enjoy it?”

“Definitely.”

Tony smiled as Peter handed him back the plate.

**Attempt #5**

Peter was sprawled across his bed Sunday night when he received a text.

_**Tony:** So, school’s off tomorrow._

_**Peter:** yup_

_**Tony:** Find out why?_

_**Peter:** teacher training?? idk PD day or something_

_**Tony:** Actually, it’s a holiday._

_**Peter:** on feb 17?_

_**Tony:** Yup. Any guesses?_

_**Peter:** cupid’s coming late?_

_**Tony:** It’s family day, kid._

_**Peter:** oh_

**_Peter:_ **

_**Peter:** cool_

_**Tony:** Is frozen pizza still on the menu? I think you might need something more exciting than that._

_**Peter:** ~~I don’t have any other option~~ may might bring home something_

_**Tony:** Something as exciting as chicken parm?_

_**Peter:** lol_

_**Tony:** I’m not joking._

_**Peter:** i don’t know how to make it_

_**Tony:** I do._

_**Peter:** thats awesome good for u mr stark_

_**Tony:** I’m inviting you over, Pete._

_**Peter:** _

_**Peter:** for family day??_

_**Tony:** Yup._

_**Peter:** Why?_

_**Tony:** _

_**Tony:** Because you’re my family, Peter._

_**Peter:** oh _

_**Peter:** _

_**Peter:** r u sure?_

_**Tony:** Of course I’m sure, kid. No doubt about it._

_**Peter:** oh_

_**Peter:** ok :)_

_**Tony:** Glad to see you’re excited. See if you can convince May to come._

_**Peter:** thats very kind of you mr stark but i think she has to work_

_**Tony:** Convince her._

_**Peter:** what r u planning_

_**Tony:** Dress casual. Nothing fancy or you’ll make me feel embarrassed._

_**Peter:** i don’t think i own anything fancy_

_**Peter:** but wait mr stark what r u planning_

_**Tony:** :)_


	37. First time they stand up for you, first inside joke, pt. 1

Tony had let Peter know that the Avengers would be over for dinner, and Peter would be welcome to join them, as Tony’s intern. The Avengers didn’t know Spider-Man’s identity yet, but Tony didn’t want to keep Peter hidden in his room; so, intern.

Peter dressed in his finest sweatshirt, one worthy of the Avengers. It was red with blue drawstrings, a little inside joke with Tony, and the only one he owned without grease stains on it.

He hurried across the hall the moment he heard voices, but stopped just out of sight when said voices said his name.

“Haven’t seen that Spider-Kid out in a while.” That was Black Widow’s voice.

“I’m not complaining.” Maybe that was Falcon. “Less clean up for us.”

“Should we be worried something happened to him?” Captain America contributed, and Peter was pleased he was worried about in his absence.

“I wouldn’t be.” Black Widow again. “He seems to be able to take care of himself. Plus, if a villain _had_ taken down Spider-Man, you know they wouldn’t be hiding it.”

Falcon chuckled as Peter heard the noise of chairs scratching across the floor; the group settling down at the table.

“If I managed to shut up that big mouth, I would be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Ouch.

Peter didn’t know his chest could physically ache from a single comment.

“Excuse me?”

Peter pressed closer against the wall he was hiding behind. That was _Tony’s_ voice.

“Hey, man.” Falcon. “I was just kidding. He _does_ talk a lot, though. I mean, how can you manage to be on the other side of his comms when he’s constantly rambling about nothing?”

“It’s pretty easy, actually. You don’t mind the talking so much when you realize that crime in Queens decreased by 25% since he got out there, and when you see him take down bank robbers and car thieves alike first-hand. And if you piece through the chatter, there are quite a few well-detailed thoughts and plans hidden in there. Way deep down, but they exist.”

The table was quiet for a moment as Peter smiled wide and fought to keep from jumping up and down. Tony approved of him!

Captain America cleared his throat. “Of course, no one here was doubting Spider-Man’s abilities-”

“You better not have been. He’s going to become the best of us all; you just wait and see.” Falcon laughed. “I wasn’t kidding.” Peter heard an unusual sound. Maybe Falcon was choking.

The conversation lulled before Captain America introduced a new topic, something boring that no one contributed to. Peter figured it was his job to save them.

He chose that moment to step into the room.

Tony looked up at him as he approached. “Ah, finally. Everyone, I’d like for you to meet my private intern, Peter Parker.”

Peter gave them a simple wave. Black Widow cocked an eyebrow, looking him up and down.

“You’re Spider-Man, aren’t you?”

“ _What?_ ”


	38. First time they stand up for you, first inside joke, pt. 2

“I- What? I’m not Spider-Man. I mean, you heard Tony. I’m just an intern.”

Tony put an comforting arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter fought not to flinch at the sudden, surprise contact. How did Black Widow _know?_ Sure, she was Black Widow, trained spy, but she had barely seen Peter for two seconds. He hadn’t even spoken; he’d barely _waved_.

How had she figured it out?

Black Widow leaned back in her chair, refusing to divulge her secrets. Tony laughed, looking down at the floor. For some people, those were just their mannerisms. For Tony, that meant he was nervous.

“And what, exactly, brought you to that conclusion?”

Black Widow cocked a brow. Peter caught sight of Falcon, smirking, and Captain America, leaning across the table and analyzing Peter. He fought the urge to shiver.

“Body shape seems to match,” Captain America said.

Tony scoffed. “He’s fifteen. Every kid his age looks this scrawny. Spider-Man is an enhanced adult. It’s two, completely different things.”

Peter was about to argue when Tony squeezed his shoulder. Peter got the message. _I’m saving your butt. Shut up._

“Gotta say,” contributed Falcon. “You’re going to great lengths to protect your _‘intern.’_ ” That last word in air quotes, obviously.

“I’m defending him because I don’t want to see his face plastered all over the news tomorrow because _someone_ leaked false information.” He glared at the Black Widow. She glared back.

Peter got chills.

“Tony Stark doesn’t have private interns,” Black Widow said quietly. “Sam spoke against Spider-Man. You defended him like he was your own kid. Suddenly, Peter here walks in, and your face lit up, Stark, _like he was your own kid_. That’s not a coincidence.”

“Yeah.” Tony chuckled. “I’m not doing this. Grab a seat, kid. Take something to eat-”

“Nice sweater, Peter.”

Peter froze under Black Widow’s gaze.

Damn.

“Are you serious?” Tony said loudly. “It’s blue and red. There’s no connection there.”

“ _I’ve_ never seen a sweatshirt with those colours,” Falcon contributed, clearly enjoying the dispute. “Have you, Steve?”

Captain America leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve seen a lot of clothing trends in my time. This wasn’t one of them.”

Peter sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

He heard movement.

A panicked, “Hey, what are you-”

Peter’s right hand shot up to catch a butter knife that had been thrown in his direction. Too late, he realized his mistake.

He slowly lifted his head from his hand and looked at the knife, held inches from his face - and, behind it, Black Widow, smirking. Her eyes moved above Peter’s head, to Tony.

“Don’t ever lie to me again.”

Tony sighed, moving to sit at the table beside Peter. Before he could begin to explain, he leaned over to Peter, who had handed the fork back to Black Widow, handle first, and was now boring a hole into the table with his eyes, cheeks red.

“Why did you have to wear the sweatshirt?”


	39. Mermaid AU

Tony was watching the waves lap against the side of the boat when Rhodey called his name.

“Uh… Tones?”

Tony turned and caught sight of Rhodey, fishing rod laying at his feet, and in his arms he was carrying… a boy? When had a _teenager_ come aboard their fishing boat?

Tony opened his mouth to inquire about the intruder - and then, he took in the unnatural sight, the tail where the boy’s legs should be, with scales that glinted golden in the evening light.

Tony’s mouth fell open

A tail. A… _tail?_ A mermaid. _What?_

Mermaids weren’t real; it wasn’t possible. This had to be a… an alcohol-induced hallucination, right? Goodness knows Tony had experienced enough of those. Well, he hadn’t drank anything since Friday night, had barely finished his coffee this morning, but-

“Tony,” Rhodey repeated, a tremble in his voice as he shifted the boy - the _mermaid_ \- to better support the… _creature_. Tony fought back his pounding headache and took a closer look… and there was a red stain blooming near the end of his glittering tail, spreading quickly. Tony’s eyes widened in horror.

“I thought it was just a heavy catch,” Rhodey whispered, visibly flinching as the creature groaned, eyelids fluttering. Rhodey looked down at him in dismay.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his mind was clearer, thoughts pushed aside for the time being. (He knew, later, they would overpower him like a tsunami.)

“Okay, um….” Tony exhaled. “Okay, here. Set him down on the deck.”

Rhodey nodded, moving to set the creature down, gently cushioning his head. Tony moved to kneel beside the… _boy_ , let’s call him boy, hands ghosting over his body. Rhodey lowered himself down opposite Tony, blinking quickly before moving to inspect the wound.

“Alright, Colonel, you’ve dealt with worse,” Rhodey muttered to himself, beginning to apply pressure to the wound. Tony side eyed him.

“Questions later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s save the kid first.”

“Is he?”

“Is he _what_?” Rhodey sighed, hurrying to stand to grab the first aid kit under the nearby bench.

“A kid.”

Rhodey froze, looking over his shoulder. Uncertainty crossed his features before he shook his head to clear it and continued with his task, pulling gauze and bandages from the box and hurrying back to the boy’s side.

“That doesn’t matter, Tony. He’s a living creature, and he needs our help.”

Tony sat back on his heels and watched as Rhodey worked, hands steady and gaze steadfastly on the creature in front of him.

“What the hell is this?” Tony asked quietly, and Rhodey only faltered for a moment before finishing his task, securing the bandages and leaning back once he had finished.

“I don’t know,” Rhodey answered. “Here, pass me that blanket.” Tony complied, reaching behind him with a trembling hand to grab the blanket from the bench and passing it to Rhodey, who cushioned it beneath the boy’s head - the boy, whose eyes were fluttering open.

He flinched back, and Tony almost did the same

The creature’s eyes appeared to be entirely _white_ \- or, very pale blue - and he was looking right at Tony, chest heaving.

Slowly, Tony raised his hands, palms out. “You’re okay, you’re alright,” he soothed quickly, not knowing if the words were for the creature, or for himself. The boy looked between Tony and Rhodey, beginning to drag himself back across the deck, when he flinched, looking, panicked, down at his injured tail. His eyes shot back up to the two of them, fear evident, and Tony moved back, looking up to urge Rhodey to do the same.

“You’re injured,” Tony informed him, before fighting the urge to smack himself in the face. _Of course_ the boy knew he was injured. “My buddy here, his name’s Rhodey, he fixed you up, and you should be back to peak condition in no time.”

The boy smiled weekly, but be was still nervous, still inching backward, until his back hit the edge of the boat. His eyes widened slightly when he realized there was nowhere else to go, and Tony slid back, just a touch.

“What’s your name?” Tony asked.

The creature hesitated a moment before opening his mouth and squeaking out the smallest, “ _Peter_.”

“We’re not going to hurt you, Peter,” Rhodey consoled. “I promise. We just want to make sure you’re healed before you go back to, uh… swimming.”

Peter nodded once, eyes still wide. Tony cleared his throat.

“So,” he said meekly. “You’re a… mermaid.” Peter nodded once, and Tony took a deep breath. “Um, wow. Okay. Gotta be honest, bud, I didn’t know you existed until now. This is… _crazy_.”

Peter gave a feeble smile. “Yeah, well, if people knew about us, they’d try to kill us, so….”

Tony’s expression faltered, and he met Rhodey’s wide eyes. “Uh… yeah. I guess that’s fair.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “So w-when can I go back?”

“As soon as you can swim again,” Rhodey explained. “The minute you can move your tail without pain, you’ll be back in the water.”

Peter nodded once, looking down at his bandaged tail. “Are you going to tell anyone about me?”

Again, Tony and Rhodey shared a look. “You’ll be hunted,” Tony said quietly, looking back to see Peter’s pale face. Peter nodded once, and Tony’s expression hardened. “No. We won’t tell anyone.”

Rhodey agreed, and Peter relaxed instantly. “Here,” Rhodey said, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “Why don’t we get more comfort- wait, can you breathe out of water?”

“No, I’m slowly dying,” Peter deadpanned. Tony laughed suddenly, causing Peter to smile. “Yes, I can breathe out of water.”

“Alright.” Rhodey grinned. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take you to heal, but we should get you comfortable in the meantime, so, um….” He began to scan the boat, and Tony helped, reaching for the blanket that lay in the middle of the deck. He collected it in his hands and slowly stood, maintaining eye contact with Peter.

“Can I come closer to you?” he asked, never looking away, despite the shivers that fought to race up his spine at the sight of Peter’s cloudy eyes, as he attempted to ignore the golden, shiny scales that glimmered in his peripherals.

Peter hesitated a minute. And then, he nodded.

Tony moved slowly, stopping at Peter’s side and gently lowering himself to the deck. He slowly unfurled the blanket and lay it over Peter’s, slightly quivering, form. Peter smiled gratefully at him once the blanket was tucked below his chin.

Tony stepped backward, moving to sit beside Rhodey on the bench that was only really meant to fit one person.

“So, how many of you are there?” Rhodey asked.

“Mermaids?” Rhodey nodded. “Um… I dunno. My parents - they were taken by humans when I was young, and I haven’t really seen anyone since. As far as I know, I could be the only one left,” he said sadly, but still managing to force a smile. A look of horror crossed Tony’s features, and Peter must’ve noticed.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I mean, it happens, y'know? I just… I find a couple of crabs, take care of them for a little while before setting them free. I collect shells and shiny pebbles before scattering them back across the sea floor. They belong there, you know?”

Realization dawned on Tony, and his spine straightened. “You feel trapped in the ocean.” Peter averted his gaze, and Tony knew he had hit the nail on the head. “How? I mean, the ocean’s… the _ocean_. It’s huge!”

Peter’s tail began to flap nervously against the deck, the pain causing him to flinch minisculely every time. “Why would I be able to breathe oxygen if I have to stay underwater?” Tony’s expression softened. “I mean, there’s a lot to see, but sometimes I see pebbles skip across the surface, and- and… _you_ -” he cast a nervous glance to Tony- “hunt me, but… but I’m so _curious_.”

Tony took a shaky breath, nodding once. “Okay. Yeah, that’s… fair. I wish I could help you.”

Peter just smiled. “You’ve done more than enough,” he said softly.

They slept in the boat that night, nervous to return it to the dock and risk someone seeing Peter while he healed.

He was gone by the time Tony and Rhodey woke the next morning, bandages laying in a heap atop the deck, a single, yellow shell resting on top, glimmering in the sun.


	40. Peter confronts the Rogues

By the time the elevator stopped moving, Peter’s back was stiffened, his jaw set. Tony’s hand on his back between his shoulder blades didn’t calm him, not a tad, not when Tony had that bruise under his right eye, not when he hadn’t smiled for the last two weeks, not when he returned home with his left arm in a sling.

Not when he came back from Siberia, a different man.

Tony had tried to keep Peter away from the rogues. He had gone two weeks practically punching a hole through his phone in his haste to press deny before Peter could see the name on the caller ID (Steve Rogers), two weeks of programming and reprogramming Friday to ensure the compound had as much protection and security as possible, two weeks of begging Peter not to go patrolling when he knew Steve was in town. Now, he knew he couldn’t protect Peter any longer. The Rogues were back, meaning Steve was back, meaning he was going to be near Peter.

Meaning Tony would have to allow it.

Peter set his jaw as the elevator doors opened. Fury had insisted the Avengers make up. All of the Avengers, including Spider-Man, including Captain America. Peter didn’t have an opinion on Steve before… before. He was cool. Well, he had to be - he was Captain America.

Then Tony came back with a black eye and trust issues, more extreme than before, and Steve became Peter’s worst enemy.

Tony’s hand seemed to tighten on Peter’s back as the doors opened fully and they were met with the eyes of four waiting Avengers on the other side. Peter took the first step out of the elevator, narrowed eyes moving from Sam Wilson, to Wanda Maximoff, to James Barnes… to Steve Rogers.

Tony’s hand moved up to Peter’s shoulder and tightened, attempting to hold him in place, but it was too late. Peter was already shrugging it off and marching right up to a stoic-looking Steve. He was at least a head shorter, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t care. There was a fire burning in his veins, anger in his heart, and he was going to make Steve pay.

“How dare you?” he asked quietly. Steve opened his mouth to answer, but Peter didn’t allow him to. “How dare you? Tony was your friend, he supported you, he fought not to get you arrested, and you left him to die?”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s not that simple, son-”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah, okay. What, you really think Tony would’ve let them hurt James? You didn’t even consider, for one second, that he would’ve found a way around it? You think, if there was somewhere he needed to go but the government didn’t allow it, he wouldn’t have gone anyway? He wouldn’t have done the right thing? If you really think he would’ve allowed that, you don’t know him at all.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, but Peter wasn’t waiting around to see it. He was already stepping to the side to stand in front of Wanda. He stared at her for a moment, and she shuffled nervously under his gaze. Peter just scoffed and shook his head.

“You’re really childish, you know that?”

Wanda’s face crumpled. “Peter!” Tony hissed from behind him, but Peter just waved him off without looking.

“And that’s coming from a child. Tony kept you in the compound to protect you. You made a mistake, and the government, everyone was mad at you for it. If you were out and about, they would’ve hunted you down. He didn’t lock you in your room, he kept you in a safe house with your best friend, an honest-to-goodness pool, and home theatre. It was for your safety. You know, if you were out in public you probably would’ve been killed before you had the chance to bury Tony under a pile of cars.”

Wanda’s hands began to glow red. Peter saw Steve shift nervously, but he kept his eyes fixed on Wanda, unflinching, until the colour died down. Then, he stepped to Sam.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Take your shot.”

Peter cocked his head. “Actually, I have nothing against you. Well, you did kind of throw me out of an airport window, but I was fine. I think you just… picked the wrong side, man.”

Sam shrugged. “Depends on where you’re standing.”

“Not really.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re witty, kid.”

“I’m not joking.”

Peter heard Tony scoff from behind him. He fought down the smile that tried to cross his features. Now came the biggest feat of them all - James Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Tony said Steve called him Bucky, but Peter wasn’t exactly there yet. Or maybe he just didn’t want to have any affiliation with Steve.

He moved to stand in front of James, whose shoulders were hunched and legs slightly bent, as if he were ready to attack - or run - at any minute, and suddenly, the anger Peter was swarming with just two minutes ago was gone. The way James was looking at him with wide eyes, the way his hair was falling over his face like he didn’t want to be seen….

Peter got the sudden impression that James wasn’t the cause of this whole argument. This wasn’t his fault. Sure, the battle was fought for him - but what if he didn’t really want it?

But then Peter was reminded of the news report he saw where Wanda, Sam, Clint, and Scott were apprehended with Steve and James nowhere in sight. When he heard about them breaking out just a few days later, he had a hunch - and when Tony returned, beaten and bruised, with his arc reactor chipped to pieces and his armor ripped apart….

“You were brainwashed,” he started quietly, and James froze before nodding once. “But you weren’t in Vienna.”

James stood straighter and shook his head quickly. “No.”

“They why’d you run? Why didn’t you just… try to explain?”

James looked worriedly to Steve, then brought his eyes back down to Peter’s. “They had… guns,” he said quietly. “Steve said they wouldn’t take me alive.”

Peter chewed on his lip and looked down. “Fair.”

He was silent for a minute, and Tony cleared his throat from behind him. “Peter-”

“But why’d you follow Steve after? If you didn’t remember, why’d you trust him?”

James looked down and a small smile crossed his features. “I… did remember, actually. Just bits and pieces, but enough to know I could trust him.” He looked up to Steve then. Peter kept staring at his face, looking for any traces of dishonesty - but all he saw there was the raw truth, and… apology?

“Steve told me about these other… Winter Soldiers.” He shuddered at the name, but kept speaking. “The project had continued. There were more - we had to stop them before Zemo got to them, but he….”

James looked worriedly over Peter’s head. He turned suddenly and saw Tony’s spine straightening, his eyes growing wider. He turned back to James with urgency, hurrying to change the topic.

“Okay. Fine. But when Tony returned, his arc reactor was broken. Was that you, or was it Steve?”

Steve stepped forward. “Look, kid, that’s enough-”

But James was already answering, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. “Me. Well, partly - partly me, I guess.”

“And were you aware that he had the shrapnel taken out of his chest? That he no longer needed the arc reactor to live?”

James froze and his eyes grew wide. “Shrapnel?”

Peter got a second’s look at the pure shock on James’ face before Steve was stepping between them, his back to James. “Peter, that’s enough. You’re upset. I get that, but I don’t think you fully understand-”

“Don’t give me this you’re just a kid spiel-”

James was shoving Steve aside before Peter could finish. He stepped forward and looked first to Peter, then over his head to Tony. “Shrapnel?” he repeated, and Peter turned to see Tony shrug, looking at a loss for words.

“Shell exploded. I was just… way too close. The arc reactor kept the shrapnel from entering my heart, until an operation five years ago took it all out. Now it just… powers my suit.”

James stared at Tony, horrified. “I could’ve killed you?” he whispered, and Tony took a step back, shocked.

“Well, uh, you didn’t. Don’t worry. Just…” He shrugged, looked away. “Trapped me in my suit. I had to hack it off, trudge my way to the nearest town-”

James stepped back suddenly, eyes wide. “You what?”

“Hey, Buck-” Steve moved toward James but he held his hands up between them, holding Steve back. James’ eyes grew hard as he stared at Steve, and his hands clenched into fists.

“Did you know?”

Steve swallowed thickly. “I- Buck, he was gonna kill you-”

“I wouldn’t have-” Tony started, at the same time James exclaimed, “You knew.”

“Bucky, I-”

“You knew about his suit?” Steve hesitated before nodding. “And did you know Tony got the surgery?”

Peter saw Tony tense from the corner of his vision. He stepped back so he was in line with his mentor to offer support, but Tony barely glanced at him before refocusing his attention on Steve.

Steve’s eyes flitted from Tony, to Peter, to James - and back to Tony.

“No,” he whispered finally. “I didn’t.”

James’ shoulders stiffened. His jaw clenched. Wanda and Sam were watching with widened eyes, but Peter wasn’t focusing on them. His attention was solely on Tony, who was - who was literally trembling. His hands were clenching and unclenching and his eyes were brimming with tears, but the expression on his face wasn’t sad. He was livid.

Steve raised his hands and took a careful step forward, but Tony stumbled back so fast it froze him in his tracks. “Tony. Tony, I didn’t mean to-”

“Well, clearly, you did.”

“You were going to kill him.”

“You really think that? You really think I was going to-”

“You came pretty close, Tony!”

“I was holding back! If I wanted to, I could’ve beaten you with both hands tied behind my back!”

“Then why didn’t you?” Steve shouted, stepping forward- and Tony moved forward to meet him, chest out. “Fine, I was aiming to kill. If you could’ve stopped me so easily, then why-”

“Because I wanted it to happen!” Tony yelled, and the world fell silent around him. His screams echoed around the compound, seeming to reverberate in Peter’s skull, seeming to send tremors through his body, seeming to shake him to his core.

Because I wanted it to happen.

Because I wanted it to happen.

Because Tony wanted to die.

Because he wanted Steve to do it.

Tony’s back stiffened and he dropped his head, turning slowly to glance at Peter - but Peter couldn’t see him. His world was spinning. Everything was blurry.

Tony wants to die.

Tony wants to die.

Tony wants to-

“Peter?” Tony moved forward and set his hands on Peter’s shoulders, shook him slightly - but Peter couldn’t bring himself to focus. “Peter. Look, why don’t we just head back to the lab? We can work on upgrades for your suit, or Friday, or- it’s your choice-”

“You want to die?”

Peter was pretty sure he was crying. All he knew was that his chest hurt, and Tony wanted to die?

“Kid, I-”

“How long?”

“Peter-”

“How long did you w-” Peter choked on his words. “Want to d… die?” he forced out in a whisper. Tony just shook his head and tugged Peter against his chest. Peter latched onto him like a lifeline and cried into his chest. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and rested his hand on top of Peter’s head, begging to go back in time and stop himself from spilling that little detail.

Stupid. Stupid, Stupid-

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, but Tony just shushed him.

“It’s okay, Peter, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere.” He sighed, shook his head, swore to himself that he would make good on that promise. “I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Stark, that- you can’t- this is serious, Mr. Stark, I want to… to help you-”

“You do, Pete. You do. This… this was a lot worse before you came into my life.”

Peter sniffled. “Yeah?” he whispered, and Tony smiled.

“Yeah.”

Peter nodded and retracted an arm from Tony but kept the other fixed on his back and pulled away, so Tony had an arm around his shoulder. He hastily wiped his tears away. He figured he might’ve been embarrassed, to be crying in front of people who - used to be - his heroes, but not after his mentor just confessed to being s- sui-

No. No, Peter had to focus on Steve right now. He was mad at Steve, and he could… he could help Tony later.

“Um…” Sam muttered, casting a worried glance at Tony before shaking his head as if to clear it of thoughts, then turning to Steve. “Cap, you… you didn’t know? You actually aimed to- to kill?”

Steve gnawed on his lip. “Look, I didn’t know Tony was holding back, alright? I never would’ve-”

“So this is all a game of he started it?” Sam crossed his arms and stepped forward, shaking his head slowly. “I followed you because I thought you were fighting for what was right-”

“Look. Look,” Steve shouted, holding his hands out. Sam pinched his lips together and cocked his head. “Look,” Steve repeated, quieter. “I was just protecting my friend, okay?”

“What, so you tried to kill the other one?”

Steve ran a hand over his face. “I just- I really thought-”

“Steve.” Wanda stepped forward, speaking for the first time since Peter was in the same room as her. “I think you should go.”

Steve stared at her in dismay before turning his eyes to where Tony was standing with his arm around Peter. “Tony, please-” He stepped toward Tony, but before Tony could pull Peter behind him James was there, standing between them with a hand on Steve’s chest.

“Steve,” he said quietly. “Leave.”

Peter couldn’t see James, but he saw Steve’s face over his shoulder - and he looked torn. But Peter couldn’t bring himself to care not when Steve planned to kill Tony. Not when he almost did.

Not when Tony would’ve let him.

With a sigh, Steve turned and left the room. The five of them watched him go, backs stiff. Peter was the first to break the spell, turning toward Tony.

“You would’ve let him?”

Tony smiled at him (but Peter didn’t miss how his lower lip quivered). “Not anymore.”

Peter nodded quickly before turning to James, who was still staring at the elevator Steve had disappeared to, unmoving. Peter put a gentle hand on his arm and James flinched away so violently, Peter’s heart practically jumped into his throat. He took a step back and raised his arms, waited for James to breathe deeply and run a hand through his hair.

“Look, Peter, I’m- I’m so sorry, I had no idea-”

Peter shook his head with a small smile. “Not your fault,” he said simply. “I just didn’t expect Steve….”

“Yeah.” James ran a hand along his chin. “Me neither.”

Peter saw movement and turned to see Sam moving toward Tony, who received him with an expression of nonchalance while he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Hey listen, man,” Sam muttered, but Tony waved him off.

“Don’t get all sappy with me now, Wilson. You’re wrong, I’m right. It’s just great you’re finally admitting it.”

Sam chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder before stepping aside. Behind him stood Wanda, her arms crossed as she chewed on her lip and watched Tony carefully, but didn’t approach. Tony gave her a small nod, but she didn’t reciprocate. She didn’t bury him in more cars, either, which Peter figured was a good sign.

“So, does this mean you’re all Team Iron Man now?”


	41. Peter is taken advantage of for Tony’s money

For the first time in two years, Peter had to skip a lab day with Tony - and he was _happy_ about it.

He was going out, for dinner, with a group of… of _friends_. _They_ had invited _him_ out. It was technically a party, and they wanted him there!

Peter wondered how they discovered it was his birthday.

 _We’ll be there in 10_ , Cathy had texted him. _Lucas and Isaac are coming, too_

Peter dressed in his fanciest button down and gelled his hair back, buzzing with excitement. He had never really had a… a birthday party before!

Peter got a text that they had arrived and he hurried out of the apartment, kissing May on the cheek before he left. She laughed, taking in his excitement. She saw how difficult the past couple of years had been for Peter; she was glad to see him so excited.

Peter saw their car parked at the curb, a Mazda 6. Lucas from his history class was behind the wheel, Cathy from science in the backseat, and their friend Isaac in the passenger seat.

Peter slid in the back beside Cathy, smiling wide. “Hey, guys!” The boys didn’t respond. Cathy gave him a quick smile before looking out the window. Peter was too elated to notice.

In the front seat, Lucas and Isaac were having a discussion about their math class, that Peter wasn’t in. Oh, Peter didn’t know they had math together- and now… Cathy was joining in, too.

Well, that was okay. Not everyone could have the same interests and be involved in the same discussions all the time. It was nice enough that they had invited him out for his birthday.

They got to the restaurant without anyone saying a word in Peter’s direction, the three of them walking inside first, leaving Peter to bring up the rear. They found a table in the corner and left Peter sitting with his back to the restaurant, facing the three of them, tucked in the corner. All the better! If they were going to have a conversation, he’d rather be facing them than be distracted by strangers.

No one spoke a word in Peter’s direction for the entirety of the meal.

That was okay, though, right? Peter wasn’t making an attempt to start a conversation. Well, he tried to bring up history with Lucas and science with Cathy, but maybe they just didn’t like talking about school in their free time. He brought up Star Wars, discussed current events, tried speaking up about the weather….

Maybe Peter just wasn’t that interesting.

Well, it was nice enough that they had thought to invite him out.

And then, the cheque came.

The waiter stood at the table, asking how it would be paid. Peter was half-way through asking for it to be split four ways when he caught all three pairs of eyes on him, and his voice faltered.

“Right, guys?” he asked, confused. The three of them shared a look.

“Well,” Lucas said slowly, “we kind of thought… _you_ could cover it.”

Peter frowned. “What?”

“Yeah,” Isaac contributed, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, you’re close with Stark, right? He must pay you, what, an allowance?”

“I don’t… get _paid_ ,” Peter said, their words slowly beginning to sink in. Were they using him? Was this the only reason he was invited?

Did they even know it was his birthday?

“Well, maybe not for working, but… he must pay you for something _else_ , you know?” Isaac said suggestively.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat and his blood began to run cold in his veins. “What are you implying?”

Isaac looked wordlessly to Lucas, who shook his head. Cathy cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I mean, why would Tony Stark keep a 17-year-old kid around if not for… you know?”

Peter’s hands clenched around the table, glare shifting between his three unapologetic classmates. The waiter fidgeted uncomfortably behind him.

“Leave,” Peter told them quietly. Isaac rolled his eyes. Cathy rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean it,” he continued, voice growing harder. “You brought me just to cover the cheque? Fine. I’ll do it. _Get out of here_.”

Peter waited, frozen, as the three of them stood with lots of huffs and grunts and eye rolls and left the restaurant. Peter heard the car speed away, even from the back of the room.

Peter blinked back tears as he accepted the cheque, and he did, in fact, pay with the card Tony had given him - _I have more than enough, kid, c’mon. Just accept it_ \- but that didn’t make him feel any less guilty. He gave the waiter a hefty tip and smiled apologetically, and the waiter - _Matt_ , Peter read - pat him gently on the shoulder. The extra chocolate mints he deposited on the table didn’t escape Peter’s notice.

They didn’t exactly make him feel better, either.

With his back to the restaurant and three empty chairs in front of him, Peter dropped his head in his hands.

Peter’s phone vibrated, and he read the text from May - _Hope you’re not partying too hard, birthday boy! ;)_

Peter choked back a sob as he typed back a message, barely able to read it through the tears in his eyes - _No promises!!_

He shakily pushed himself to his feet, pocketing the mints. Maybe he’d want them later. He had to leave this restaurant. He smiled as he passed Matt on the way out, and then at the worker behind the hostess stand. He only let his face fall when he stepped outside, into the harsh wind.

He still needed a ride home. He couldn’t possibly call May - she had been too excited for him, he couldn’t disappoint her - and he was in no condition to walk.

He dialed a number he’d only had to use a couple of times before and lifted the phone to his ear. Tony picked up on the first ring.

“ _It had better been worth it, blowing me off._ ”

“It wasn’t.” Tony’s voice was the one straw that broke the camel’s back, and Peter found tears beginning to well up, his voice breaking. “Can you come pick me up?”

Tony didn’t even hesitate. “ _Yeah, of course. Where are you? Are you okay?_ ” Peter gave Tony the restaurant’s address as he sat on a nearby park bench, ignoring the second question, before he hung up. He watched cars drive by, bright lights taunting him, screams of delight giving him a headache.

Sooner than should’ve been possible, but simultaneously too long of a time later, a vehicle with a _Stark_ license plate pulled up to the curb - Peter was too distressed to tell which one. He hurried into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind him, not sparing the restaurant another glance. He saw Tony watching him from his peripherals, but he refused to look, to acknowledge it. Eventually Tony sighed, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the parking lot.

Peter watched the lights pass by outside, lights he didn’t recognize. Tony wasn’t bringing him back to the apartment, not yet - he was taking Peter for a drive.

Only when Peter sniffled, raising a hand up to wipe a tear away, did Tony speak.

“What happened?” he asked softly, face barely visible in the passing streetlights, eyes straight ahead. Peter appreciated that, the attention _not_ being on him, but he still looked at Tony. Even in profile, even in the dark, just the man’s presence brought Peter comfort.

“They were using me,” he said quietly. “They just invited me to get access to your money. They- they didn’t even know it was my birthday. They just wanted me to pay the cheque.”

“Shit, kid,” Tony cursed under his breath as he turned his head slightly to stare solemnly at Peter, and even that sympathetic look in his eyes was enough to send Peter spiraling. He felt the urge to tuck his knees to his chest, but he couldn’t ruin Tony’s fancy seats with his shoes-

“Go ahead,” Tony urged with a small smile. “Give yourself a nice, big hug. I can tell you’re holding yourself back.”

A small smile ghosted across Peter’s face as he slowly lifted his knees up to his chest, resting his cheek across them as his eyes drifted to the centre console.

After a moment, Tony continued. “What did you do?”

“I told them to leave. I paid the cheque. What else could I do?” Tony nodded, making a left turn. “They thought you kept me around… they assumed you paid me for…” Peter’s voice quieted, “nefarious reasons.”

“Nice word,” Tony commented, and Peter smiled. “You mean, sexual favours.” Peter fought back a shiver as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a hand rub small circles around his back, near his neck. “I’m so sorry, bud.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

Tony sighed. “People will talk. It’s what they do. Usually, they have the decency to do it behind your back.”

“Yeah,” Peter scoffed, letting his eyes drift shut, letting the vibrations of the car soothe him, letting Tony’s hand lull him into a relaxed state. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would have ever happened.

“I’m not supposed to be telling you this,” Tony whispered, “but we’re throwing you a surprise party tomorrow. It’s a big one,” he said with a smile.

Peter blinked up at him, not finding the strength to return it. “Thanks,” he said lifelessly.

“Anytime, kid,” Tony whispered as Peter’s eyes drifted shut. “Anytime.”


	42. Steve sees the effect Siberia had on Tony (and Peter)

Tony was… nervous after the events of Siberia. Jumpy, even when Steve wasn’t around - but it was even worse when he _was_.

Tony tried to hide it, moving as if to stretch, but Steve noticed how Tony stepped away whenever he stepped forward, whenever Tony found a way to excuse himself when Steve entered a room.

Steve knew Tony was affected.

He just didn’t know how bad it had gotten.

He didn’t know that it had led Tony to break his sobriety, led him to drink once more. And apparently it became so bad, Tony had drunk himself into the med bay.

Steve had found out when it had been four days and Tony was nowhere to be seen. Steve wondered if Tony had snapped, and was now hiding in his room or his lab 24/7 in order to avoid him - and then, he asked Friday.

Friday told him Tony was in the med bay.

With alcohol poisoning.

Steve barely took 30 seconds to decide whether it would be okay for him to visit until he realized that, no matter their past, he _had_ to see if Tony was okay. This was Steve’s fault, after all - he had never known Tony to have drunk himself into oblivion since he had met the man.

Without another thought, he hurried down to the med bay.

Friday had informed Steve that Tony was resting, that he wouldn’t like visitors, and Steve wondered if the AI was telling the truth, or if she was looking out for Tony’s mental well-being - he didn’t put it past her to be that advanced. Eventually he decided he would just take a look, to confirm for himself that Tony was okay, that he was _alive_ … and maybe to provide himself with a bit of guilt, a bit of heavy emotion to dislodge the apathy that he had been cursed to feel since returning.

He came to a stop at the doorway and peered inside.

There was Tony, sitting upright against the headboard, looking pale and sickly and not at all like himself - but he was smiling fondly down at the boy in his lap; Peter, Steve realized.

Peter was curled against Tony’s side, arms wrapped around him protectively as he buried his head in Tony’s chest. Tony’s fingers were aimlessly twirling Peter’s hair as the kid’s shoulders rose and fell. Steve could just barely hear their conversation through the crack in the door-

“I thought you were done,” Peter said, voice trembling.

Tony’s face fell. “Me, too, kid.”

“I was _terrified_ , Mr. Stark. You _collapsed_. I-” Peter’s breath hitched, and Tony squeezed his eyes shut, tucking Peter closer against his body. “You stopped breathing. It’s not supposed to be that bad.”

“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, kid, I’ve had worse before.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Tony sighed shakily. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “okay? I wasn’t thinking - or, I was thinking too much, really, but I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Peter didn’t say anything. “Pete? Talk to me, kid.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tony chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t, either. But I promise you, I won’t let it get this bad again, especially not with you here.”

“No.” Peter shook his head determinedly, looking up to stare Tony in the eyes. “You won’t let it get this bad, no matter if I’m there to witness it or not.”

Tony looked down at him, sighing. “Okay,” he finally conceded. “I promise.”

Peter dropped his head back to Tony’s chest, and Tony resumed playing with his hair. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a lifestyle-”

Tony froze when he caught sight of Steve, standing just outside the door. His eyes hardened, and Steve saw his hand clench tighter around Peter’s shoulder. He made to stand from the bed, and Steve made quick work of raising his hands and backing away, hurrying down the hall from which he had come.


	43. Post-CW: Steve notifies Tony of a homeless child living outside his building

Tony read the caller ID, then let the call go to voicemail, listening as a message was left.

“ _Tony? It’s Steve. I’m really sorry to be calling you, just to ask for your help-_ ” Tony moved to mute the message- “ _but he’s just a kid, Tony. I don’t know what to do._ ”

Tony lifted the phone to his ear, pressing the _Answer_ button before Steve could issue another word.

“What?”

“ _Tony?_ ” Steve gasped, and Tony ran down a hand down his face.

“What do you want, Rogers? What kid?”

“ _I- uh-_ ” Steve sighed, giving in. “ _You know I found an apartment, after…._ ”

 _After you left me to die in the snow_ , Tony thought with rage. “Yeah, I know.”

“ _Anyway, there’s this kid, just outside my building. I… I think he’s homeless_.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“ _I can’t call the police; they’ll just tell him to get lost, and then he’ll go somewhere I can’t keep an eye on him_.”

“You care about him so much, _you_ take him in.”

“ _I can’t take care of a_ child _, Tony-”_

“Oh, and you think _I_ can?”

Silence.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve begged. “ _You’re the most equipped person I know._ ” Tony ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling as he sighed.

“Fine,” he conceded through gritted teeth, and he heard Steve heave a sigh of relief on the other end. “I’ll come take a look, but no promises that I won’t call child protective services.”

“ _Thank you, Tony. Really. I was- I was really worried about him-”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony groaned as he headed to his garage. “It that all?”

“ _Um… well, I just- I wanted to say I’m sor-”_

Tony ended the call.

//

He arrived at Steve’s apartment 15 minutes later, saw the man standing just inside the glass doors. Tony took a deep, steadying breath and placed his sunglasses high on his face, despite the gray sky and the snow drifting around outside, and lifted his chin in a (faux) display of confidence as he stepped out of the car.

Tony paid Steve no mind - _please don’t come outside. Please don’t talk to me_ \- and fought back a shiver as he caught sight of a figure, lying sideways against the brick wall of the building. Tony inched forward slightly. It was a boy, a _kid_ , just like Steve had said.

He was shivering under a torn coat, his belongings seeming to be held in a thin blanket with the corners cinched at the top, which he was using as a pillow.

Tony took a shuddering breath, taking in the boy’s pale face, his blue lips.

There was no way he was introducing this child to the orphanage system; there was alsono way he would let him fall into the custody of Steve, and Tony _definitely_ wouldn’t let him stay out on the street.

There was only one option left.

Tony carefully approached the boy, crouching down in front of him and blocking the snow from drifting across his shivering form.

“Hey, there, bud,” he greeted as the boy’s eyes fluttered open slightly - then, he sat bold upright.

He began gathering his things, mumbling as he spoke, teeth chattering. “I’m s-so sorry, I-I-I’ll move, I-”

“Whoa there. Hold on.” Tony placed a hand on his arm, and the kid stopped, eyes growing wide. “I wasn’t kicking you out, it’s alright. I’m Tony.”

The child didn’t move. “Peter.”

“Hey there, Peter. Look, my… _friend_ there-” he nodded to the glass doors without looking at the man behind them, and Peter turned to see. “He lives in this building, and he’s worried about you, so… do you have a home? Somewhere you can go?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Peter nodded frantically. “Yeah, I was just about to head there right now, actually, so I’ll just-”

Tony tightened his grip on Peter’s arm, and the kid froze, staring straight ahead.

“You’re lying,” Tony said quietly. “You don’t need to lie. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, some people do that without realizing. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Tony took a deep breath, making eye contact with the worried man behind the glass.

“Fair point,” Tony agreed quietly. “Look, I’m here to offer you a-” _home._ “-safe place. Somewhere you can get some food, stay out of the cold, spend nights there, even. And if you want… you can live there.”

Peter eyes shot to Tony, wide and panicked. “Not a shelter,” he whispered.

“No,” Tony agreed. “My place.”

Peter began to gnaw nervously on his lower lip. “… Oh.”

“Yeah. I know you don’t know me well - at all, really - so we’ll start slow. I’ll give you the address and you can come by whenever you need to-”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’d like the address?”

Peter took a deep breath. “Yes, I’d like to stay.”

Tony hesitated for a moment, looking into the eyes of this young child who needed his help so desperately. He couldn’t very well take back the offer, at this point - but… well, he didn’t think he would choose to if he could.

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “That’s my car, there at the curb. Why don’t you climb in, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be there in a second.”

Peter looked into Tony’s eyes once more before nodding shakily, picking up his one makeshift bag of belongings, and heading toward the expensive vehicle parked on the street.

Tony took a deep breath before turning to look through the glass doors, burying his hands in his pockets to attempt to stop their trembling, or at least hide it.

Steve met his gaze from the other side of the glass, eyes watering.

Tony nodded respectfully. Steve returned the gesture, then opened his mouth and reached for the door handle, as if to begin a conversation.

Tony turned and walked briskly to the car before he could, heart beating loud in his chest at the trepidation of his future, and the fear of what he was leaving behind.


	44. Peter calls Tony a boomer

Tony didn’t know when it had changed, or what had _caused_ it to change. All he knew was that one day, he moved to stand from his desk chair with a groan, and, without looking up from his book, Peter called over,

“It’s about time for you to retire, isn’t it, old man?”

Tony froze, glaring at where Peter was sprawled across a couch on the other side of the office. “What did you just call me?”

Peter peered up from his book, eyebrow raised. “Old man.”

Tony stared at Peter. Peter stared at Tony. No one moved.

After a moment Peter sighed, returning to his novel. “I’m just saying, you’re not getting any younger over there.”

For a moment Tony stood, frozen, his entire world seeming to crash down before his very eyes.

And then, he _laughed_.

“Peter Parker with the sass,” he commented as he crossed the floor to leave his office, Peter standing to trail after him like a lost puppy. “What happened to, _I love you, Mr. Stark? You’re my pride and joy, Mr. Stark?_ ”

“Oh, _Tony_ ,” Peter sighed, emphasis on the first name. “Old age must’ve messed with your memory.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony scoffed, smacking Peter lightly upside the head as he held the office door open for the kid to pass by. “Come on, let’s get some food in you. Maybe you’re just hangry.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Please_ never say that again.”

“What? Aren’t all the kids saying it these days? I’m hip.”

“Okay, boomer.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, staring after Peter’s retreating back. “What does that mean?” he called, but Peter didn’t respond, pace quickening as he ducked around a corner. “ _Parker!_ ” Tony yelled, beginning to chase after him - and ignoring the throbbing in his hip. “What does _boomer_ mean?”


	45. Tony tells Peter he’s heir to SI

“The solution seems so simple,” Tony muttered under his breath, checking and re-checking his program that _wouldn’t run_.

“Want me to take a look?” Peter asked, already beginning to step around the desk to take a look at Tony’s computer screen. Tony huffed, tilting the screen away from him.

“As owner of Stark Industries, I should be able to figure this out. I won’t have some pesky, faulty coding defeat me,” he muttered, only half-joking. “You’ll have your chance when I pass on the mantle.”

Peter froze. “What?”

Tony barely spared him a glance, squinting at the screen. “Humor me and let me try. You’ll get your chance later.”

“No, I got that. I meant, what’s _later?_ Passing on what mantle?”

Tony looked up at Peter like he was insane. “Owner of Stark Industries.”

“You- you’re kidding, right?”

Tony backspaced and retyped something. “Not in the slightest.” He peered up at Peter. “Were you not expecting that?”

“Um, _no_.” Peter fell heavily back into his desk chair. “You’re passing the company on… to _me?_ ”

Tony finally sat back from his computer, leaning away to smile faintly at Peter. “Of course. Who else would I give it to?”

Peter ran a hand over his face, scoffing in disbelief. “Uh, I dunno, Dum-E? He’d probably do a better job than I would.”

Tony shook his head determinedly. “Nuh-uh. Nope. You’re the only one I trust, Pete.” He gnawed down gently on his bottom lip. “I really didn’t tell you, huh?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” Peter said quietly as if responding on autopilot, eyes wide and unfocused. Tony watched his still form for a minute, saying nothing, before reaching forward and snapping his fingers in front of Peter’s eyes. Peter jumped, gaze refocusing.

“Me? You’re giving it to… to….”

“Peter Parker,” Tony interrupted grandiosely, “I hereby irrevocably appoint you heir to Stark Industries.”

“Really?” Peter whispered.

“I said irrevocably, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think what you said was legally binding.” And his eyes were blurring out again.

“No. Hey.” Tony leaned forward, shaking Peter lightly by the shoulders. “You’re freaking me out here, kid. You can’t tell me you weren’t expecting this.”

Peter looked up at Tony, a look in his eyes Tony had seen there too many times before. Self-deprecation.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, and Tony cut him off. “No. Stop. Just… Peter, you’ve got to know I think of you like my kid.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Tony muttered to undercut the discomfort he was feeling. “Alright, come here.”He opened his arms and Peter stepped rigidly into them. Tony did the hugging for him, squeezing Peter tight. Peter didn’t react.

“I-I didn’t- Mr. Stark, I… had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, now you do. I think of you as my kid, Pete. Always have, and my kid gets to inherit my company, capiche?”

“I, uh… yeah,” he stuttered, finally relaxing into Tony’s grip, hugging him tightly in return. “Wow,” he sniffled. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, really. I… I don’t know what to say-”

“ _Thank you_ is fine,” Tony said quickly.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Parker.”


	46. Spider-Man conspiracy theories

“Mr. Stark, did you know you’re my biological father?”

Tony hummed from the kitchen counter as he mixed a bowl of salad. “Obviously. The question is, who told you?”

“Buzzfeed article,” Peter said monotonously, stealing a sliced cucumber from the bowl. “Man, May’s gonna freak.”

“I bet. And it was such a well-kept secret, too. How’d they figure it out?”

“Probably the same way they figured out….” Peter squinted at his phone before gasping dramatically. “No way. Natasha’s my mom?!”

“Secret’s out.” Tony set the now-mixed salad on the table. “Phone away. This is the one and only time I’ll be providing dinner for you. I want you to actually see it, so when you get home you can tell May about how awesome I am.”

“But I’m learning so much about myself!” Peter whined. “Ooh, I can’t believe you forced me into the superhero lifestyle, Mr. Stark. I’m….” Peter read further. “-30 years old. It’s time for you to stop living through me and to allow me to pursue my own dreams.”

“Which are what?” Tony asked, amused.

“Doesn’t say.” Peter shrugged, finally putting his phone down. “Too bad.”

“Shame.”


	47. ♪ WYAF by Pacific

Tony was losing hope.

There was nothing in his life to keep him there. First, his weapons manufacturing company was dealing under the table. Then, he was on the verge of death, was convinced it was all going to end there. Sadly, it continued.

PTSD came next. A couple of potentially world-ending catastrophes. And now, the group of people he thought he could count on to remain by his side, that he could depend on no matter what, well, now they were splitting up.

Saying Tony was hopeless was an understatement.

And then, he met Peter Parker.

This kid from Queens, the one he recruited only for the numbers, who he expected to bring just for backup and then return to his home, well… something happened, something in Tony’s heart. A protective urge, one that told him to hold this kid tight, to never let him go.

Peter was intelligent, for one thing. He connected with Tony mentally, and that wasn’t an easy feat, but more importantly, he was the beacon of hope Tony was looking for. He had a heart of gold, a moral compass of stone, and a love for all of humanity, no matter how screwed up Tony knew it to be. Peter Parker was something special.

He was the change Tony needed.

Tony fought harder, Tony became _better_ , for Peter. Peter seemed to dote on Tony; he wasn’t hiding it very well, but Tony took it in stride. He worked to be earning of it.

Maybe Tony couldn’t ever be half the man Peter was, but he fought to be the friend Peter deserved.


	48. “I just want to get away from here.” “I know you do.”

Peter sat on the gravel roof atop the Avengers tower, legs splayed out in front of him as he lent back on bent elbows. His head was tilted back, neck arched at an uncomfortable angle, but he didn’t mind it. He’d rather this than exerting the strength to hold his head up.

His eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, letting the gentle breeze caress his face and lift loose locks of his hair, occasionally sweeping them back along his face.

He let his thoughts race, allowed them to tug him from school to Spider-Man to May to Mr. Stark, to Ned to MJ to Flash and back again. He was just along for the ride, a spectator in the whirlwind that was his mind - and he was more than happy to watch.

After a couple of minutes of the constant loop of fears and worries and joys and love and exhilaration and pain and confusion, he slowly peeled his eyes open.

The stars blinked above him, faint but existing - once he found one, it was easy to locate the rest. He let his eyes glaze across them, let the glow blur then refocus, watched planes cross his vision. Listened to the sounds of the city below, car horns and conversations and sirens and tire skids.

His body felt weak, nonexistent, only there to allow his thoughts a location to wander from. His head lolled back and his arms trembled, his fingers twitching and shoulders shuddering. His eyes remained, drifting across the night sky. He let the black reel him in before grabbing onto the stars and pulling himself back out, then back again, focus and unfocus, dream and wake. Reality and fiction.

There was a sound from behind him. A door opening, maybe. He heard it - in some small part of his mind, he did, but he didn’t focus, didn’t care. He wasn’t here, not really. He didn’t know where he was, but he didn’t mind, as long as he was still lost. As long as he wasn’t pulled back.

A body settled down beside him, a person, sitting cross-legged about a step away from Peter’s hips. The person tilted his head back, looking up at the stars, as he took a deep breath, and Peter had something new to latch on to.

A heartbeat, a set of breaths. Fingers tapping against the gravel, echoing in his silent mind that screamed so loud. Peter’s heart thumped in time with the person’s blinks, or, he was led to believe by his wandering mind. He couldn’t differentiate between the two anymore. He didn’t care enough to.

He blinked lethargically to the side, looking over at the figure through the darkness. Tony must’ve known he was looking but didn’t look back, eyes fixed on the spotlights that shone too dim to gain any recognition above them. Peter watched his face for a moment, something new to focus on, taking in every detail - the hairs at the very top of his head that were slightly ruffled by the gentle breeze, the way his lips parted with every exhale, shimmering stars twinkling in the depths of his eyes.

After a moment Peter looked away, rolling his head to peer back up at the sky. he let the monotony of the twinkling pattern lure him into a state of nonexistence, and he closed his eyes, drifting between dimensions.

“I just want to get away,” he whispered without realizing, without caring, a breath on the wind quickly swept away. He pretended he hadn’t spoken, letting his words get lost in the breeze. The corners of his lips turned up slightly at the thought. _Lost_.

The man sighed from beside him, eyes flickering between the bits of stardust in the sky. “I know,” he answered, and Peter allowed himself to understand the meaning, to appreciate it, to relax and drift back. He let his mind fall away, let himself fade into nothing, let the darkness overcome him, creeping up over his sharp edges and hiding them in their abyss

and Peter let himself fall.


	49. “You need to take a deep breath, everything is fine.”

Peter woke with a start, hands scrambling for purchase on his mattress, sheets soaked with sweat. The room spun around him and he fought to control his breathing, the pounding in his heart not helping, especially when trailed by the broken wisps of his dreams.

_Mr. Star- Tony!_

A gunshot, and he watched his father figure fall to the pavement.

It had been all too real.

Peter reached for his phone without hesitation, fingers moving on instinct to dial the number. He held the phone to his ear with trembling fingers and waited for Tony to pick up as he pulled his knees up to his chest and tucked his head between them.

“ _I know why I’m up this late, but you shouldn’t be_.”

Peter didn’t respond, _couldn’t_ , his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he heaved a sigh of relief.

“ _Pete?_ ”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, voice shaking. He said nothing else - he couldn’t manage anything.

“ _Any reason you’re calling me at one a.m.?_ ”

Peter leaned his head back against the bed frame. “Bad dream.”

“ _Yeah. I’ve had my share of those. Anything in particular?_ ”

“You,” Peter stuttered out, voice barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It was of, um, you.”

“ _Oh. Wow. I’m a nightmare to some people, kiddo, but I never thought I’d have that effect on you_.”

“You died.”

The other end of the line went silent. “ _Oh_ ,” Tony said quietly.

Peter’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to squeeze them shut, but it did nothing to stop the flow. “They- they shot you. And I tried to stop them, and I called your name but I-I couldn’t move, and you… you _fell_ and I had to watch. I was _only_ watching and y-you were _dead_ -”

“ _Alright, hey_ ,” Tony soothed from the other end of the line. “ _You need to take a deep breath. Everything is fine. I’m fine, you’re fine… we’re all good, right?_ ”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“ _I’m going to see you tomorrow, okay?_ ”

“Mhm,” Peter sighed, every instinct in his mind telling him not to hang up the phone, that if he hung up he might never hear Tony’s voice again.

“ _You know what, I’m not that tired, either. Here, let me tell you what I’ve been working on_.”

Peter was content to lay back on his pillows, put his phone on speaker, and just listen.


	50. “You never actually thought I was straight, right?”

It was quiet in the lab, the kind of comfortable silence that arose from months of trust building, the kind of quiet that made you want to confess things that maybe should have remained hidden. The kind that tricked you into thinking it was safe to come out of your shell.

And it didn’t go unnoticed by Peter.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looked up, fingers ceasing to fly across his keyboard. “I think I’m, uh, I mean, I should tell you- I might be… pansexual.”

Tony leaned back from his desk, eyebrows raising slightly. “I… don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before. What does it mean?”

A blush bloomed across Peter’s cheeks, and he fought to maintain eye contact. “I kind of like… everyone. Like, it doesn’t matter if they’re a girl or a boy or non-binary. It’s kind of just, all the same.”

Tony was silent for a moment, and Peter looked down, beginning to gnaw on his bottom lip.

“Don’t do that, you might damage a nerve.” Peter stopped instantly but refused to lift his eyes. Tony wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Peter took a shaky breath and pushed himself up to his feet. “I- I’m sorry, I’m gonna just go now. Sorry. I- Sorry.” He began to pack up his belongings with trembling hands. He’d rather drag himself from the lab than hear Tony say those condemning words, to kick Peter out himself. He wanted to look around once more in case he never saw the space again, in case he would never be permitted to return, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes. Tony wouldn’t want a freak like him around. It would ruin Tony’s image, Peter was sure - a blight on his profile-

“Where are you going?”

Peter looked up, skin pale and eyes wide. “I just-” He quieted his voice to a whisper. “Please, don’t kick me out. I’ll leave, I won’t come back, just… please.”

Tony watched him from across the lab, his narrowed eyes meeting Peter’s wide, teary ones. Peter tried to silently beg with him, _just let me leave. Please, don’t make this worse_ -

And then, Tony _laughed_.

“Why on _earth_ would I kick you out?” he asked, chuckling. Peter’s mouth fell open.

“You… you have a reputation. I’m just a weirdo, and you don’t want to be seen accompanied by a weirdo, especially with the public watching-”

“You’d better not be talking shit about my kid, Parker.”

Peter froze. “ _Your_ kid?”

“Yeah, let’s just blow past that. Sit down.” Peter remained frozen, regarding Tony with comically wide eyes. “Alright, I can come to you.”

Tony stood and rounded the desks, coming to a stop just in front of Peter and leaning back against the table that was recently haphazardly cleaned. Tony didn’t like the sight of the empty wood.

“You thought I was going to reject you for your sexuality.” It wasn’t a question, merely an observation, but Peter nodded anyway, nervous under Tony’s scrutinizing gaze. “Why?”

“Because I’m a- I’m a _weirdo_ ,” Peter stuttered.

Tony scoffed. “You’d better stop calling me weird, kid. You’re hurting my feelings.”

Peter froze. “What?”

“Peter. Kiddo. Come on, you never _actually_ thought I was straight.” Peter’s mouth fell open. “You thought I was straight.”

“I mean, what else was I supposed to think?”

“You really thought I got to where I am today by only sleeping with women?” Peter clasped a hand over his mouth. “Okay, calm down. I was kidding. I’m a white man, everything’s handed to me.”

“So what… I mean, who… if you want to-”

“Spit it out, kid, come on. You want to know what I identify as?” Peter nodded quickly, face red. “Bisexual.”

“Oh,” Peter said lightly, attempting to be nonchalant. “Cool.”

Tony stood, ruffling Peter’s hair as he laughed. “Yes, _very_ cool. Look, you can tell me anything, kid, you know that. I mean, I hope you know it _now_ , right?”

Peter nodded, face finally morphing into a relieved smile. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For… accepting me.”

“Well, I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I didn’t.” He resettled at his own desk and watched Peter slowly sink into his own chair across from him. Tony offered him a small smile. “Of course I accept you, kid. I love you, forever. No matter what.”


	51. “Take me instead. / How dare you think none of us love you with everything we have?”

The battle had been a difficult one, requiring the combined efforts of Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow, and Spider-Man - and now, it was practically over.

Or, it would’ve been, if one of the men hadn’t grabbed Iron Man, short-circuiting his suit and leaving him a hostage, trapped within a prison of his own making.

The heroes froze as the man regarded them from across the battlefield, mechanical arms beginning to wrap around the Iron Man suit and slowly crush it, leaving dents. The man laughed, a gleeful victory celebration, as Tony screamed at the heroes from inside the suit - “ _What the hell are you waiting for?_ ” - but no one dared shoot. No one wanted to be the one to put Tony in danger.

The man began to retreat, pulling Tony along with him, and Peter found himself panicking. No one wanted to risk Tony’s life, but Peter just couldn’t let him be taken, and with every second he got further away-

“Take me instead.”

Steve lunged for Peter’s shoulder as the boy stepped forward, arms raised, but he dodged out of the way.

“Parker, you step your ass back into that line, _now_ -” Tony demanded, voice distorted.

“You’re too important, Mr. Stark. I won’t let them take you.” He turned his attention to the creature. “If you take me, you might be able to get ransom money. Maybe they’ll pay. Plus, I… won’t fight as hard to leave.”

The man hesitated, and the team took their chance. Natasha shot a widow bite and the man seized, allowing Tony to squirm the suit out of its hold and disengage it on the floor. Steve launched his shield and the man fell, leaving Tony to force his way out of the suit to sit upright.

He looked at the fallen creature with a sigh. “Honestly, that wasn’t even the worst hostage situation I’ve ever been in.” He turned to look back at Peter, and gave him a nod. “Nice quick thinking. That was just the distraction we needed.”

Peter tugged off his mask, revealing to Tony his read eyes, the tears that left their tracks down his cheeks, his gaping mouth. Tony stiffened.

“You weren’t trying to create a distraction.” Peter shrugged, saying nothing. Tony forced himself up from his suit, detangling his limbs from the fractured metal. He stood on shaky legs but still managed to storm to Peter, leaving the boy to stumble back. “You were actually going to _sacrifice_ yourself?”

“This team needs you,” Peter managed to spit out. “I couldn’t let them take you-”

“What, and you’re not as important?” Peter pinched his lips together. “What was all that about _maybe_ getting ransom money, huh? And you mean to tell me that if you were kidnapped, you wouldn’t fight to escape?”

“I needed you to be safe.”

“I’m a big boy, Peter. I can take care of myself,” Tony fumed. Peter fought to keep from flinching back.

“They almost took you!” Peter yelled. “You’re actually important to this team, okay? I’m not. I’m a liability. I’m the expendable one.”

Tony froze, mouth dropping open. Peter noticed the gazes of the other heroes over Tony’s shoulder, but he refused to meet them, looking to the ground.

“How dare you,” Tony whispered, voice coming out cracked, “think none of us love you with everything we have?”

Peter looked up, guilt weighing heavy on his heart. Tony’s eyes were red and he looked _hurt_.

That was a worse punishment than anything the man would’ve done to him.

“You’re-” Peter tried, but he couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. He dropped his head, but Tony shot a hand out, cupping Peter’s chin and lifting it in a firm hold.

“You look at me when you talk to me,” Tony demanded, but there was no real heat behind his words. There was no room for it, with all the hurt.

“You’re important,” Peter whispered, blinking back tears. “I’m not.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Tony murmured. “Don’t you dare hint at it. Don’t you even _think_ it. Spider-Man deserves a place on this team as much as any of us do, and… and I don’t know what I’d do without Peter Parker.”

Peter nodded, as much as he could with Tony’s hand around his jaw, and Tony released him, stepping back. He fixed Peter with a stern glare. “You never do that, ever again, or I will hunt you down and rescue you from those people only to kill you.”

Peter sniffled, giving a small laugh. “Yeah. Alright.”

“I’m going to need you to promise, Parker.”

“Okay,” Peter sighed after a moment. “I promise.” _Until the next time you’re in danger_.

Maybe Tony couldn’t lose Peter Parker, but Peter wouldn’t let the world lose Iron Man.


	52. Closeted Peter is stressed when Tony brings up Pride

“Happy Pride,” are the first words Peter hears when he steps into the lab on Monday, June 1st, and he almost has a heart attack.

“What?” he manages to stutter in Tony’s direction, having stopped in the doorway. Tony’s eyes narrow, as if he’s searching for a response, some kind of recognition in Peter’s eyes.

“June. It’s pride month.”

Peter lets out a slow breath as he moves to his desk. “Oh. I had no idea.”

Tony frowns. “Isn’t your friend - who, MJ? The one who came out to you by texting a photo of a rainbow with the words _I’m gay, bitch_ \- she must have brought it up to you, right?”

Peter’s answer is curt as he keeps his head down, beginning to sketch in the margins of his notebook. “Nope, I didn’t know.”

“Huh,” Tony says simply, returning to his work - but, unfortunately, not ceasing the conversation. “There’s a parade going on. This Saturday, I think. From what you’ve told me about MJ, I’d bet Stark Industries on her attendance, and you two are thick as thieves. I figured she’d have invited you.”

“She didn’t,” Peter bites out through gritted teeth. He feels Tony’s eyes on his head, but refuses to look up.

“Alright, there’s no need to take that tone with me. I was just asking.”

“Yeah, well, drop it.”

Tony’s jaw sets. “What is going on with you?”

“Nothing!” Peter throws his pencil down and fixes Tony with a glare. “I just don’t know why you’re bringing up Pride all of a sudden!”

“You’d better be careful, Pete. You’re veering dangerously on homophobic territory, and you should know that homophobes and I don’t get along all too well.”

“I’m not-” Peter forces himself to stop, to take a deep breath. “I’m not homophobic.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then why-”

“I’m bisexual, okay?” Tony tenses in his chair. “And I wanted to tell you, but I was scared, and I didn’t exactly know how to say it.”

Slowly, Tony unfurls himself from his chair to sit up straighter. “Peter… you can tell me anything. You know that.”

“Yeah, well.” Peter shrugs, forcing back tears. “It’s hard to reassure myself of that sometimes.”

“Come here.” Tony holds his arms open, gesturing for Peter. Slowly Peter stands, but with every step toward Tony, a sense of foreboding grows larger in his chest. This feels like a trap.

Tony reaches forward when Peter’s close enough and pulls him into a hug. Peter’s shocked into silence, muscles tense, waiting at any moment for the rug to be ripped from beneath him.

“You’re my kid, no matter what,” Tony assures him quietly. “I’m sorry your mind convinced you otherwise, but there’s nothing you could do that would change how I feel about you.”

Slowly, Peter’s muscles begin to relax. He leans into Tony, hoping the words are true, praying this isn’t a dream.

“Do you mean it?” he whispers, eyes still averted - fearful, but full of hope, too.

Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Of course I do.”

And that’s all Peter needs to collapse into Tony’s arms, simultaneously feeling like a toddler being comforted and a mature adult, both growing up while still relying oh-so-heavily on his support system.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and he means it. _Thank you for accepting me. Thank you for not turning me away._

“You’re my kid, Pete. Forever and always.”


	53. Sleepy Peter

Peter tried to stay awake - really, he did. Tony was being so nice in inviting him over as May worked overtime, offering him movies and snacks and not relenting no matter how much Peter tried to assure him that “It’s okay,” and, “I’m an adult now, Mr. Stark. I’m perfectly fine spending one night on my own.”

“An adult that still refers to me as _Mister?_ ”

Peter had turned bright red, unable to say anything more, and _that’s_ how Tony had gotten Peter on his couch, in his penthouse, as _The Office_ played on repeat on a large flat screen t.v.

And now, Peter was ruining it all by falling asleep.

He blinked his eyes open, but his eyelids felt heavy, the backs of his eyes beginning to burn - the feeling gave him a headache. His head lolled to the side before he could stop it, and Tony took notice, chuckling softly as he lowered the volume on the t.v.

“No, ‘m fine,” Peter slurred. “‘M awake. S’okay.”

“Mhm, and I don’t have daddy issues,” Tony replied, reaching behind him to one of the blankets that lay over the back of the couch.

“That’s sad.”

“Not if I don’t think about it for too long.” Tony turned back around, holding a soft yellow blanket out to Peter. “Here.”

Peter fixed Tony with a stern look. “Not…” Yawn. “Tired.”

“Sure. What’s twelve times seven?”

“70.” And Peter said it with such surety, Tony couldn’t help but laugh. Peter squinted when he caught on. “No, wait, that’s ten….”

“Yeah. You tell me when you figure it out.” Tony leaned over Peter, bringing the blanket up to his chin and tucking it around his sides. He made a mental note to take a photo of the spider burrito once the kid was out and couldn’t oppose.

Peter’s eyes fluttered closed as his shoulders sagged, relishing in the comforting feeling of the blanket around him. “91.”

“Almost. That’s thirteen.”

“Damn it,” Peter whispered as his eyes opened to slits and he refocused on the t.v. “Turn it up. This is a good part.”

“I need to keep it quiet so I can tell if you’re still breathing and check that you haven’t _died_. Geez, kid, you’re exhausted.” Tony turned the volume up a couple of notches anyway.

“Just a couple of all-nighters. No big deal.”

“A- a _couple?_ ”

“Not my fault teachers assign so many tests.”

“And Spider-Man?”

Peter paused, smacking his lips. “Not my fault, either.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”

“Criminals have… have no respect for people tryna… bust ‘em.” Peter yawned, and Tony bit back a grin, lifting his arm to rest atop the back of the couch. His fingers brushed Peter’s shoulder.

“I’m not gonna… fall sleep… on you,” Peter slurred. Tony nodded.

“Oh, sure. I believe you. No, this is actually for me. I’ve gotta stretch out, y’know? Claim what’s mine. Protect it.”

Peter’s body began to list to the side, eyes falling closed and breaths evening out. “You saying… ‘m yours?”

“Mhm.” Tony tightened his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But only because I know you’re too tired to remember it.”

He cast his eyes down and saw Peter’s own eyelids fluttering closed. Careful not to jostle Peter, he slid his phone from his pocket and proceeded to take a couple of selfies - and some close-ups. Potential blackmail, he convinced himself. _Not_ out of sentiment.

“84,” Peter whispered, so quietly that Tony had to lean down to hear him.

“What was that, Pete?”

“Twelve times seven. Eight…” Yawn. “Eighty-four.”

Tony laughed softly, chest rising and falling. He watched as the corners of Peter’s mouth turned up.

“Yeah, you got it.”

Tony held Peter closer.


	54. “I never realized how literal of a term love sickness actually is.”

Peter groaned as his bedroom door was shoved open and Tony walked in, pulling open the blinds. Peter flinched away from the light, curling under his blankets.

“I’ve called you three times already,” Tony scolded gently, moving to lean against the dresser opposite Peter’s bed. “Come on. Up and at ‘em.”

“Can’t go to school today. ‘M sick.”

Tony tsked gently, moving to sit on the edge of Peter’s mattress. He placed the back of his hand on Peter’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

“Stomachache.”

“Maybe you just need some breakfast. Come on, I’ll make you pancakes. If you still don’t feel good after that, fine, you can stay home. But, you know, I bet your friends will miss you, Ned and MJ and that Harley kid-” Peter’s eyes squeezed shut, and Tony froze. “What?”

“Just got a wave of nausea,” Peter muttered, curling in tighter on himself.

Tony cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. “… Huh. What class do you have with Harley, again?”

“Math,” Peter groaned. “But I can’t talk about it right now-”

“Can’t talk about what, math class?” Peter blinked his eyes open, giving a small nod.

“I guess.”

“Or talking about Harley?”

Peter shook his head, burying his face into his pillow. “Told you not to ask me about it.”

Tony grinned, patting Peter’s leg under the sheets. “You have a crush.”

Peter blinked an eye open to glare at Tony. “No, I don’t, and I really don’t feel well right now-”

“You like this Harley kid.”

Peter froze and eased himself up from the mattress. “How did you-”

“Peter, you’re lovesick.”

Peter frowned, collapsing back onto his pillow and yanking the covers up to his chin. “No, this isn’t some stupid emotion, alright? I’m actually going to throw up on your expensive pajamas. What, are those Gucci?”

“Oh, this is _definitely_ lovesickness.”

“Can you take me seriously? I- I’m actually going to vomit right now. This isn’t about some blue-eyed boy.”

A smirk began to grow on Tony’s face. “Blue-eyed, huh?” Peter forced his face back into his pillow. “Tell me, do you feel worse when you think about vomit, or about Harley’s _blue eyes?”_

“Let me tell you something, I _don’t_ feel bad about punching you across the face right now.”

“You can’t even form a fist in your state.” Peter blinked open one eye to glare up at Tony as he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Now, come on. You’re going to school.”

“I’m gonna throw up all over him.”

“Well, it’ll be a good conversation starter. I’ll make you pancakes.”

Peter eased himself up from the mattress. “With chocolate chips?” he asked hopefully. Tony paused in the doorway.

“Um, obviously.”


	55. Mood swings

Teenagers are moody; Tony knows this. They’re emotional, mood changing on a dime, and Tony had seen his fair share of this with Peter, but it was always in minor situations. Peter requested a movie, Tony sat down with him and prepared the popcorn, and suddenly Peter changed his mind, wanted to read in his room instead. Sometimes Peter would lash out, but he would immediately catch on. When Tony would ask him why, he’d answer, “I don’t know,” followed quickly by, “I’m sorry.” Peter doesn’t really experience severe mood swings, which is why Tony’s so confused when Peter comes home from school, a permanent scowl set on his face, eyes focused on the floor.

Peter moves immediately for the stairs, barely sparing a glance and a grunt in Tony’s direction. Tony steps past him, leaning on the banister and blocking his path.

“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” Peter glares up at him. Tony wouldlaugh, except for the fact that Peter _never_ glares. He’s never angry. Something is wrong. “What is it?”

Peter shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Nothing. I just have lots of homework to do.”

“You didn’t even grab something from the fridge first.”

“Not hungry.”

“You’re _always_ hungry.”

“ _Dad_ -” Peter shouts, before cutting himself off and squeezing his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath, and Tony’s brow furrows as he watches. “Can I just go upstairs? I have a lot of stuff due tomorrow and I should get started.”

Tony spares him a sympathetic look. “Can you spare me two minutes and explain why you’re so upset?”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t need your help. There’s nothing going on.”

“I need you to take a deep breath, and talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Peter-”

Peter lifts an arm and fires a web. Tony’s eyes widen as his mouth is sealed shut and Peter shoves past him, stomping to his room. Tony hears the door slam shut and lock behind him.

Tony wants to chase after Peter, to yell back, but he knows that a) that wouldn’t be an adequate and helpful response, and b) it’s not physically possible anyway. He blows a puff of air from his nose as he finds a kitchen knife before heading to the bathroom mirror and beginning to pry the web away from his lips. It’s a messy job, but he’ll find some of Peter’s solvent later.

He cleans off the knife before trudging up the stairs and coming to a stop outside of Peter’s bedroom door. He knows Peter’s aware of his presence, but he doubts Peter will be the one to make the first move - and so, he knocks twice on the door.

“Hey, Pete? Can we talk?” No response. “Look, I just want to help you, bud. You seem upset.”

“It’s just-” Peter groans from the other side of the door. “It’s stupid.”

“I’ve never seen you this upset before, so clearly, it’s not. Can you let me in?” Tony hears the sound of the lock click, and he reaches for the handle, gently pushing the door open. He freezes when he sees the lack of Peter in the room - then, he notices a web fixated to the lock. He follows it up to the teenager sitting on the ceiling.

Tony smiles fondly as he leans against the door frame, smiling up at his kid. “Well, hello.” Peter gives him a meek smile in return.

“I’m sorry I-” Peter makes a small gesture with his fingers like he’s pressing on his webshooters. Too guilty not to apologize, too ashamed to actually say the words.

Tony waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Goodness knows I did way worse to _my_ parents. I’m surprised they didn’t kick me out sooner.” Peter gives a questioning look, but doesn’t actually inquire anything - an indication of just how upset he is. “Now, talk to me. What happened?”

“You know Flash?” Tony nods wordlessly. “I just- why does he keep bothering me? What did I ever do to him?”

“What did he do?”

Peter shrugs, looking for words. “Just the normal stuff, I guess. He shoved me a couple of times, called me names, but he does that all the time, and it’s no big deal and I _know_ it’s no big deal. It just… it sucks.”

“And how did you react?”

Peter slowly unfurls himself from his position, lowering himself down to the floor. “I didn’t. I knew that if I did, it would just escalate, but if I do nothing, then nothing changes.”

Tony shakes his head slowly. “I’m so sorry, bud.”

“Doesn’t change anything though.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony looks over Peter’s head. “An intervention might, though.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “No. No, don’t get involved, that’s just going to make this worse.”

“Oh, no, _I’m_ not going to get involved. This isn’t my battle, but… hm. Remind me, does Spider-Man stand for bullying?”

A small smile begins to grow on Peter’s face. “Of course not.”

“Right. So if he somehow caught wind of bullying going on at Midtown-”

“-he’d have to put a stop to it.”

Tony points a finger. “Exactly.”

Peter grins, and Tony can physically _see_ his spirits lifting. “So, what am I supposed to do, just show up in the suit during my lunch, embarrass Flash in front of everybody, maybe… give Ned a fist bump- oh, he’d love that-”

Tony drops a hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Now you’ve got it. Let me know if you need Iron Man’s help, yeah?”

Peter’s expression lights up. “Ooh, I wonder if Steve’s available.”

“Ye- no. What? _No!_ Iron Man, not the Cap. People like me more than Steve, don’t they?”

“Um… I actually do have a lot of homework to do, so I should just-”

“ _Peter!_ ”


	56. Responsibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bio!Dad Tony

Tony sits in the Avengers meeting room at the head of the table, his head in his hands as Steve’s voice fades in and out, lecturing him on yet another thing he had done wrong on their most recent mission. Tony wonders if he’ll ever be perfect, or at least adequate, in the Cap’s eyes.

“You can’t keep doing this, Tony! We make a plan, we stick to it. You can’t be going off on your own whenever you _think_ you have a better idea! You could’ve cost those hostages their life-”

“If I had waited for you, they would’ve died,” Tony snaps back.

Steve pinches a hand at the bridge of his nose. “The plan is made for a reason. It keeps us organized so we’re not a bunch of vigilantes shooting guns at everything!”

Tony groans as he sits back in his chair. As always, Steve is missing the point entirely. Tony knows the importance of a plan, but he _also_ knows the importance of flexibility, of being able to adapt to whatever the situation calls for. Of course, no matter what he says, Steve will always think Tony just acts on his ego. So, Tony sits back, lets Steve talk, lets him tire himself out. It’s not like anything he says will change Tony’s attitude and actions next time, anyway-

“ _Daddy!_ ” a voice screams from somewhere outside their meeting room. The group looks up, Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Rhodes’ eyes all finding each other’s. Tony, however, looks to the door of the conference room. Just as expected, a four-year-old comes barreling in, followed not long after by a frantic-looking teen.

Tony’s expression instantly morphs into a smile as he reaches for the toddler. “Petey,” he scolds playfully as Peter jumps into his arms, soft curls bouncing around his chubby face. “Come on, are you giving Mark a hard time?”

“I-I’m so sorry, Sir,” the teen, Mark, stutters from the doorway. Tony just waves him off.

“Start calling me Tony, and we’re even. Why don’t you head on home? I’ll take care of him from here.” Mark nods gratefully and disappears from the doorway.

Tony feels the eyes of the team on him, but he doesn’t look up, instead supporting Peter on his lap.

“Wow, you’re getting heavy. How old are you, 15?”

Peter giggles. “Daddy, I’m four.”

“ _Four?_ But you just turned one yesterday.”

“But you said I was 15!”

Tony laughs, positioning Peter into a more comfortable seated position on his lap. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to someone actually _listening_ to me when I talk, hm?” Peter just giggles, content to be near his dad.

Finally Tony looks up to the group. Rhodes and Natasha are just smiling; Sam looks like he’s seen a ghost, and Steve is simply confused, trying to put together a puzzle he doesn’t have all the pieces for. It’s kind of cute, actually; he looks like a puppy.

Steve stutters for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he finally manages to spit out a word - “Daddy?”

“Yes, Cap?” Tony answers sweetly. Natasha snorts, and Steve turns bright red. Tony bounces Peter a little on his knee.

“I don’t-” It takes Steve a moment to find his composure. “You have a _kid?_ ”

“Sure do. Team, meet Peter.”

Tony sets Peter on the floor and watches him sprint around the table, heading right for Rhodes as he screams, “Uncle! Uncle!” With a little support from Rhodes he pulls himself up into his uncle’s lap, before leaping across the table to land on Natasha. She hugs him close, before setting him down on the floor again.

Peter runs up to Sam’s chair and stares up at him. Sam looks back, uncomfortable.

“Who are you?” Peter asks, his head tilted. Sam swallows thickly.

“Uh- my name is Sam.”

Peter nods once. “Hello.” Then he moves around the table to Steve. Steve leans back in his chair; he actually looks kind of scared. Tony gets half a mind to pick up Peter and toss him into Steve’s lap, just to see how Steve would react. He chuckles at the thought.

“Who are you?” Peter asks again.

Steve pushes himself up to sit straighter. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Hello.”

Peter turns back to Tony, climbing up into his lap. He grabs Tony’s shirt collar and pulls himself up until he’s standing on Tony’s thighs, arms wrapped around his neck and whispering in his ear (toddler whispering; aka, everyone in the room can hear it).

“Daddy, why are all these people in our home?”

Tony looks pointedly at Steve. “Oh, they were just giving me a lecture on responsibility.”

Steve blushes bright red.

Peter nods, satisfied with the answer, and lowers himself to sit once more in Tony’s lap. Tony smiles sweetly at Steve. “Are we done?”

Nodding shakily, Steve pushes himself from his chair, shuttering like crazy. “Uh- yeah, I’m- yeah. Mhm. We’re- done. Good.” And he leaves the room.

Sam follows after, shaking his head at Steve’s ignorance. Rhodes walks by, ruffling Peter’s hair before leaving the room, and Natasha comes by last, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. Then they’re alone, just Tony and Peter.

Tony dips his head to smile down at Peter. “How was your day with Mark? Are you still terrorizing him?”

“Well, we played tag.”

“Mhm. And did he know you were playing?”

Peter pauses, playing with his fingers. “No,” he mumbled after a minute. “And he didn’t know we were playing hide-and-seek, either.”

Tony grins as he boosts Peter up in his arms and moves to stand. “Friday, make sure to pay Mark even for this last hour. Actually, pay him for six extra hours, just to be fair. Goodness knows that poor kid deserves it, dealing with a terror like this all day.” Peter kicks against Tony’s stomach, and Tony sets him on the ground, letting him run circles around the hallway.

“Yes, boss.”


	57. Scraped knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bio!Dad Tony

Peter barrels into Tony’s office, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Dad! Dad!” he shouts, and Tony’s head shoots up, eyes wide.

“What?”

“I scraped my knees!”

Tony looks down, and sure enough, the 15-year-old’s knees are more pink than normal, small bits of blood beginning to bloom, but nothing too serious.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks slowly, curiously, moving to stand from his desk.

“Yup!”

“Do you need help?”

“Nope!” Peter grins as he turns and skips down the hallway. “I’ll go clean up and find a bandage.”

Tony frowns as he follows Peter. “I- okay, how did you get hurt?”

“I was doing handstands and I fell.” Peter shuffles into the bathroom, beginning to clean his knees with a wet cloth. Tony leans against the doorway, finding his son’s smiling face in the mirror.

“And is that- are you… _happy_ to have fallen, or-”

“It’s been so long since I’ve had scraped knees!” Peter giggles, finding Tony’s eyes in the mirror.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Doesn’t this hurt?”

“Not really. But it feels kind of… freeing, you know? Like, I’m in high school now, but I still make silly mistakes and scrape my knees! It’s awesome!”

Tony fights to suppress a smile. It doesn’t work; it never does. “Oh, I’m sure. Do you want me to find you a bandage as you finish cleaning up?”

“Nope, I’ve got it! You don’t have to take care of me this time; I’m old enough, I can do it myself!” Peter giggles. Tony shakes his head fondly as Peter jogs past him in search of a bandage.

“I can’t believe you’re happy about this. You’re _bleeding_.”

“But I’m having fun! It was an accident that I fell, and I can still have those, and it won’t ruin my day this time because I’m old enough to not allow it to! And it’s like a battle scar! And I’ll walk around with a bandage and people won’t know it’s because I was just having fun- geez, I don’t have enough fun these days, Dad. It’s crazy.”

Tony laughs as Peter finishes bandaging up his knee and stands, grinning at the familiar feeling of not being able to bend the joint all the way. “Well, then I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“Me, too.”


	58. Dum-E appreciation

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hm?”

“Can the bots think?”

Tony glances up at where Peter is staring across the room to Dum-E. He strokes a hand across his chin. “In their own way.”

“So they can make decisions and understand what I say and stuff?”

“In the way that I programmed them to make decisions and understand what you say, sure.”

“But do you think they’ve evolved past that? Like, they’re smart enough to learn and communicate?”

Tony smirks. “It’s not a question if _they’re_ smart enough, it’s if I am. So, of course, they’ve evolved past that.”

Peter grins, eyes still on Dum-E. “Can they feel? Like, emotion, and stuff?”

Tony thinks for a moment. “Again, just as much as I’ve programmed them to.” Peter stands and heads across the room; Dum-E’s claws clack as he approaches.

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark, I think they’re pretty sentient.” As Tony watches, Peter reaches a hand out. Dum-E drops his claws, bumping the hinge against Peter’s palm. Peter giggles, and damn, if this isn’t the cutest sight Tony’s ever seen.

“Do you think he can understand me?” Peter whispers, gazing fondly down at the bot.

Tony considers for a moment, eyes narrowing, before shouting, “Hey. Idiot.”

Both Dum-E and Peter look up. Only when Peter realizes Tony wasn’t referring to him does he look to Dum-E and realize the bot is clicking his claws in response.

Peter gasps, offended. “Don’t call him that!” He raises his hands, eyes searching over the machinery. “Um, where are his ears? I want to cover them in case you decide to hurl any more insults his way.” He glares accusatorily at Tony, who just laughs.

“You like him so much, you take him home. Good luck figuring out what to do with that useless piece of scrap metal.” Peter shrugs, reaching for Dum-E’s base, and Tony involuntarily lurches forward, arms outstretched. Peter raises a brow. Tony shrugs sheepishly. “Alright, I might have gotten a bit attached.”

Dum-E beeps happily, racing across the room and to Tony’s side, but his wheel catches before he can get there and he topples onto the floor. Peter giggles, reaching to right him, but Tony gets there first, setting him back up on his wheels with a pat on the head.

“Alright there, idiot,” Tony murmurs fondly with a nudge to Dum-E’s arm, and Dum-E claws at Tony’s pant leg.

“I wonder if he understands what _idiot_ means,” Peter notes with a grin, “or if he thinks that’s his name. You certainly call him by it enough.”

Dum-E begins to skirt away, and Tony watches him go with a grin. “He knows it’s with love.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

They return to their respective seats, Peter falling right back into his work. Tony, however, picks up his pen, simply twirling it between his fingers as he considers something. “I think you’re an idiot, too, you know.”

Peter lifts his head, about to scoff his indignation, when he realizes, and his features soften. “… Oh. Well, I think you’re an idiot, too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Hey!” he exclaims, and Peter giggles, returning to his work. “Well, you know what, Parker? I think you’re the biggest idiot in the world.” At this point, Peter doesn’t know if they’re still using the metaphor. His mouth falls open as he prepares to ask, unsurety ricocheting around in his mind - and then he hears a whisper. He looks up, and Dum-E had skirted back to Tony’s side, Tony, who’s now leaning down and speaking to a microphone Peter can now see is situated at the base of Dum-E’s arm.

“You know what, Dum-E,” Tony says as if Peter can’t hear him, “I don’t think Pete knows I say it with love, either.”

“Oh, I know,” Peter says with a small smile, dropping his head to finish his project, and to hide his blush.


	59. “Do you ever stop talking?” pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a happy ending

Tony was having a rough day. He had been orchestrating phone calls, Pepper was bothering him about setting up meetings with investors, and now his newest product wouldn’t work without shocking the user. He was exhausted, drained, his mind barely functional, but he only met with Peter once a week, which happened to be tonight, and he knew how much the kid looked forward to their lab sessions. It would be cruel of him to deny Peter that one weekly hour.

In hindsight, he should have postponed.

It’s not like Peter was doing anything wrong; in fact, it was the opposite. He was his normal, bubbly self, talking about his day, throwing in random ideas, giving Tony suggestions for his project - Tony just wasn’t in the mood to hear it today, with a grinding headache and his nerves shot to hell.

Of course, that was no excuse.

Tony was actually happy to see the boy racing into his lab. Peter gave him quick Spider-Man updates as Tony returned to his project, and he was overwhelmed with sudden hopelessness when he regarded the tangled wires. Tony usually loved mechanics, inventing things that had never been done before, a puzzle waiting to be solved that only _he_ could find the answers to, but after losing sleep and arguing with investors and struggling with an error in his program he just couldn’t identify, Tony was ready to call it quits. Of course, he couldn’t just leave Peter here alone.

“So today I was writing this test, and one of the questions was about a famous news broadcaster in the 1930s. How was I supposed to get that?”

_Change the input to- nope, already tried that._

“Like, it’s not like I’ll be applying for a job and the employer will say, ‘name a famous news broadcaster from the ‘30s.’ It’s stupid.”

 _Did I try rewiring the power source to-_ Tony jumped back as he got a nasty shock, waving his hand around to try and ward off the tingles racing up his arm.

“Whoa, Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

“’M fine,” Tony grumbled without looking up.

“So anyway, it’s such a minor detail. No one’s gonna care about the answer, but because of that question I’ve been overcompensating-”

_These tools are too big to reach into that gap-_

“-and I’ve been focusing on the small stuff, so now I know that Joseph-Armand Bombardier, a Canadian, invented the snowmobile-”

_Fuck, just broke that piece-_

“And I can’t even remember which countries were on which sides in-”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Tony snapped, slamming his tools to the desk with a resounding _clang_.

Peter looked up, startled, eyes wide. His lips parted in a small _o_ , and he leaned back, away from the desks. Away from Tony.

“Shit.” Tony dropped his head in his hands, elbows resting atop the table. “Shit. I’m so sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to- it’s been a stressful day, but that’s no excuse; I should’ve just called this meeting off-”

“That’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter said quietly, giving a small smile. The sad part is, it looked genuine.

“No, it’s not.” Tony shook his head, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck to attempt to soothe some of the tension held there. It didn’t work. “I’m sorry, I had no right to snap at you.”

Peter shrugged, keeping his eyes down. “I do talk a lot sometimes. That’s okay, I’ll be quiet now.”

“No, Pete, I don’t want you to be quiet. I like hearing about your day, alright? I’m just- I wasn’t in the right state of mind. I’m sorry.”

Peter nodded once before looking down to his desk and beginning to retrieve tools and materials from across the tables. He set to work, and Tony returned to his project with a soft sigh.

When Peter didn’t finish his story, Tony got concerned.

“So, wait, what happened with the test?”

Peter grabbed a magnifying glass and looked closer at the wiring in his project. “It was relatively easy. I passed.”

Tony nodded to prove he heard, but Peter didn’t look up to see it.

Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for the moment of quiet, but he hated that he could practically sense Peter’s restraint from across the tables, his hurt at Tony’s words.

Tony felt like an ass.

When the hour was up and Peter stood to leave, Tony reached for his arm.

“Hey.” Peter didn’t respond, didn’t even make eye contact. “I’m sorry, okay? I like hearing your stories. You can text me any time. I might be in meetings, so I can’t promise I’ll respond, but I’ll definitely read them.” Peter nodded, lips pursed in a small smile, and Tony tightened his grip. “I promise.”

Peter stepped back. “Thanks,” he said quietly, and with that he hurried from the lab, not sparing a glance back.

For days Tony waited for that text, the one that would be considered commonplace just last week, but would solidify their relationship now - the, g _ood morning, mr. stark! i had a dream my teeth fell out last night. now they just feel funny._ More often, the, _this class is booooring._ And finally, the ones Tony always looked forward to - _i helped a couple of kids cross the street today - one had a spider-man backpack! it was awesome, mr. stark!_ In the past, Tony hadn’t responded; now; his fingers were constantly poised over the keyboard, ready to type out a message.

His ringer was on, only for Peter. He expected Pepper to yell at him for it, and maybe she would have, if she ever heard it; and yet, it didn’t ring.

_Morning, kid. What’s on the agenda today?_

_good morning mr. stark. school then spider-man_

_Keep me posted! :)_

No response.

_How was school?_

_good_

And that was it.

Late Tuesday night, Peter initiated the conversation.

_report: saved a pedestrian from a potential car accident. stopped a gas station robber. helped a kid find his dad_

_Great job, kid! How about that robber, huh? Why target a gas station, of all places? Must be really desperate._

_maybe_

Tony dropped his head into his hands.

When Peter returned on Friday, Tony was ready. He was well-rested, he gave Pepper the day off, and he postponed all meetings. He waited at the lab door for Peter and caught his arm as he walked in.

“How was school?” Tony asked, attempting nonchalance.

Peter dropped his gaze. “Fine.”

“Any tests?”

“Math. Yesterday.”

“And how’d that go?”

Peter stepped out of Tony’s grip, moving to his desk and shooting a smile over his shoulder. “Great, actually. I got the mark back today and-” Peter froze, suit halfway withdrawn from his backpack. He cleared his throat. “It was good.”

Tony nodded, biting back a sigh as he settled at his own desk. “What are we working on today?”

“The suit got a bit of a tear yesterday. I’m going to fix it.”

Peter pulled the suit into view, and Tony sucked in a breath. “Looks like a pretty nasty tear. How’d you get it?”

“Stabbing.” Peter kept his head down as he reached for tools. Tony just nodded his head; he had gotten the message from Karen yesterday notifying him that Peter had sustained a minor injury.

“Can I help?”

Peter smiled quickly up at Tony before dropping his gaze once more. “That’s okay, it’s small. I can do it myself. You can work on your projects.” As if Peter wasn’t important enough to warrant Tony’s attention.

“Pete.” No response. Tony lay his hand atop Peter’s, and Peter’s eyes snapped up to his. “Hey. You know I want to help you, right? I want to assist you, and I want to talk to you, and I want to hear about your day.”

Peter nodded. “I know.”

“So, can I help you?”

Looking like it required great strength, Peter slid his chair aside, allowing Tony to round the table and settle beside him. They worked together on the suit, Tony trying to prompt answers from the kid, and Peter giving curt responses.

From then on, Tony waited for the day when he would get an unprompted text about nothing, conversations where Peter rambled on and on, a classic Peter monologue where he didn’t close his mouth after two words, as if he were afraid to say more.

That day never came.


	60. "Do you ever stop talking?" pt. 2

“I messed up,” Tony says as he lays face-down in bed, his face buried in a pillow. Steve sighs as he settles beside Tony, placing a light hand on his back. “It’s been a month. Four days in the lab and- what, twenty-something unanswered phone calls. He just won’t talk to me. He hates me.”

“No way,” Steve answers. “That kid worships you. Nothing you do could ever make him hate you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony props himself up on his elbows, fixing Steve with a glare. “You know the new Star Wars movie that came out? I invited him to see it. Me, him, and that Ted kid. He turned me down.”

“He could’ve just been busy, or-”

“Two weeks ago, I suggested a movie night and a sleepover. He said he had to get home.”

“Well, maybe he-”

“Suit upgrades. 15 new web shooter combinations, a damn  _ ghost mode,  _ for goodness’ sake, and I even suggested trying to invent laser eyes. Do you see what this kid’s doing to me?” Tony exclaims, flopping back onto the mattress. “He said no to every. Single. One. All this time, desperate not to become my father….” Tony mutters, staring blearily up at the ceiling.

Steve sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You’re not like him, Tony.”

“Then tell me why my kid’s scared to talk to me.”

Steve shakes his head, thinking, as he lowers himself to the mattress. “Maybe he just needs some encouragement to get out of his shell,” Steve mutters.

Tony throws his hands up. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“I meant, with someone other than you. Get him comfortable in the group presence, remind him he’s accepted… he’ll warm up to you, if only for the group sentiment.”

Tony peers at Steve from the corner of his eye. “Team dinner.”

“Exactly.”

◂◆▸

Tony’s call had gone to voicemail, so he was forced to text the kid his invite. Peter responded with a, “ok :)”

The happy face had to indicate good things, right?

Saturday comes around. Tony had Friday order from 5 different local restaurants and to tip double the cost of their order, and he made sure to situate himself at one of the sides of the table instead of the head, leaving the seat to his right empty for the kid.

Steve sits to his left and Rhodes and Natasha sit across from them. Sam is just getting settled when the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

Lo and behold, Peter Parker stands on the other side.

He’s wearing honest-to-goodness dress pants and a white button-up with a stain near the collar, and his hands fiddle in front of him as his eyes search the room, landing anywhere but on Tony.

“Hey there, kid,” Steve calls, and Sam turns and gives Peter a nod. “Glad you could make it. Come have a seat.”

Tony watches as Peter’s eyes scan the table, leaning smugly back in his seat. He had been sure to place six seats around the table; the only available one is right next to him, and Tony knows Peter realizes this by the foreboding that crosses his features as he swallows thickly and steps from the elevator.

He lifts a hand in greeting as he rounds the table. “Hey, everyone,” he says, and Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s eyes never land on him as he settles in the only open seat, placing his hands uncomfortably in his lap. The group eyes Tony as Tony eyes Peter, but when the kid dutifully keeps his gaze down, Tony plasters on a smile.

“If you guys are waiting for a formal invitation, I’m not going to give you one.” He reaches for the pizza box. The others follow his lead.

Tony keeps an eye on Peter the whole night. The kid takes a scoop of pad thai and a single souvlaki stick but nothing more as he leans back in his chair. Natasha asks him how school’s going; his response is, “good”. He smiles pleasantly throughout the meal, and by the time it’s over, he’s said nothing more than that one word.

Tony is surrounded by his best friends in this or any galaxy, and still, he’s never felt so far from the boy who sits to his left.

He’s never felt so hollow.

The group finishes their meal and begins to disperse. Tony starts to clear the table when he hears a small voice at his side - “Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Tony turns, but it’s too late-

The boy is gone before Tony can call his name, the elevator doors sliding shut behind him.

◂◆▸

Tony practically lept for his phone when it starting vibrating on the lab table beside his hand, the screen lit up with a photo of Peter that Tony had taken when the kid fell asleep on the couch just sitting in the corner.

It was taken…  _ before. _

Tony leans back in his chair, project forgotten, and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“ _ Mr. Stark? _ ” Tony sits bolt upright. There’s a tremble in Peter’s voice- something is wrong. “ _ I’m so sorry, I- I think I got s-stabbed and I- _ ”

“Where are you?” Tony asks instantly, calling the suit to him without a second thought. Friday shows Peter’s location on his display.

“ _ I’m sorry, _ ” Peter says again, his voice quieter.

“Nope, nuh-uh. Nothing to be sorry for.”

“ _ I didn’t want to b-bother you, I- I promise I won’t again, I- _ ”

“Stop talking,” Tony spits out, and too late he realizes that was the wrong thing to say.

“ _ I’m sorry, Miss’r S’ark, I- _ ”

“Peter, no-”

“ _ It’s bad, _ ” Peter whispers through the phone, and a chill sets into Tony’s veins at the sound of his voice. Tony’s never heard his kid sounding so terrified. “ _ I- I think- _ ”

“Pete-”

“ _ I’m scared, _ ” Peter cries, a quiet sob, his breath hitching over the line. Tony frantically checks his display - he’s almost there.

“Okay. Okay, you’ll be okay, Pete, I promise.”

There’s a shuffling from the other end of the line. “ _ Not this time, Miss’r S’ark. _ ”

Friday shows Peter’s location coming up ahead. She’s directing him to a rooftop, gravol, but as Tony drops to the ground he doesn’t see any-

There, behind the vents.

Spider-Man is pressed up against the metal, sitting upright and eerily still with his head twisted as he holds the phone.

“Peter,” Tony gasps, stumbling out of the suit as he hears his voice echo from the other line. Spider-Man slowly tilts his head before tensing in pain, and Tony sees the knife, sees the handle embedded just above Peter’s collarbone, sees it sticking out at the base of his neck. All Tony can do is stare.

Peter’s hand holding the phone falls limply to his side as he meets Tony’s gaze. “Please,” he whispers, voice wavering and broken. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tony is rushing forward before Peter can say another word, collapsing to his knees at Peter’s side and holding his hands up uselessly over Peter’s body.

“I’m so sorry, Miss’r S’ark, I promise I’ll be better, please-”

“Stop it,” Tony mutters, before calling over his shoulder for Friday’s analysis. As she scans him Tony gently reaches his fingers beneath the base of the mask, easing it off and away from Peter’s face.

He almost wishes he hadn’t.

Peter’s eyes are wide and red and glossy, devastated and- and  _ scared. _

“I-I’m sorry-” Peter gasps, but Tony reaches a hand for his cheek, brushing his thumb beneath Peter’s eye.

“Don’t you ever apologize,” Tony whispers as Friday calls out her report. Any movement could be fatal; they have to get the medical team here. “Then call them!” Tony shouts over his shoulder. He sees Peter wince, hears him suck in a breath. Tony turns back sharply to his kid. “No, Pete, I- I never wanted-”

“I promise I’ll be quiet,” Peter whispers, eyes fluttering closed. “Help me, please-”

“Always,” Tony interrupts, leaning closer until his forehead is almost against Peter’s, until they’re almost touching.

“ _ Boss, it is advised to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding- _ ”

Tony is tearing off the hem of his shirt before Friday can finish and presses it to Peter’s shoulder, around his neck, wincing when his hands come away wet.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Parker,” Tony demands. “I never wanted you to stop talking, can’t you see? I- I-” Tony stops when he finds he has no more air and he has to force himself to inhale. It’s almost painful, his chest feeling constricted. Is this what they mean by sympathy pains?

“Miss’r S’ark….” Peter mutters, his head falling back against the vents. “I don’ think I can hol’ on….”

“You’re not leaving me,” Tony argues, pressing harder against the wound. Peter inhales a sudden breath of pain.  _ Sorry, kid, but- _ “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“S’okay,” Peter whispers, and Tony’s horrified to see a faint smile cross Peter’s lips. “I’m okay, Miss’r…. I’m okay, Tony.”

“Well, I’m not!” Tony shouts, and this time Peter barely blinks.

He’s too far gone.

“Peter, you have to stay with me. You’ve got to-”

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

“No, you can’t-” Tony looks up. Peter’s eyelids have fluttered closed. “ _ Peter! _ You can’t- not when I’ve just-” Tony presses harder on the wound. He slaps Peter’s cheek, and elicits a faint groan from the boy. “Not yet,” he demands. “You can’t go yet, okay? Because I can’t- I- I-”

“ _ Medical is making their way up the building. _ ”

Tony sags forward, pressing his cheek to Peter’s, planting his head on the boy’s shoulders.

“You hear that, buddy?” he whispers. “They’re almost here. You’re safe, okay? You just have to hold on.” Peter doesn’t respond. “I’m sorry, kid,” he whispers as his staff reach the roof, as hands on his shoulders begin to pull him back. “I’m so sorry.”

_ I failed you. _

◂◆▸

Tony has been sitting beside Peter’s hospital bed for days, hearing the heart monitor beep, waiting for the kid to wake up. Steve visits every once in a while, bringing Tony breakfast and dinner and sitting with him whenever he can, but ultimately, Steve has a life to get back to.

Tony’s whole life is lying, unconscious in a hospital bed.

Tony had to call May and tell her what had happened to her kid. He has a faded bruise on his face from when she stormed into the tower three days ago and gave him a piece of her mind, and Tony let her, keeping his guards back and employees away. He took every scream, every cry, and every punch and slap she had to offer him.

He deserved it.

Tony feels a hand on his shoulder on the morning of the fourth day; he hadn’t even heard anyone enter.

May stands behind him, her hair wet and a coffee in her hand. The bags under her eyes are prominent, and Tony assumes he looks no better. At least May tries to hide it with a smile; Tony can’t even attempt it.

If Peter doesn’t end up… being okay, Tony doesn’t think he’ll smile again.

“My shift,” May says quietly, and Tony looks dejectedly back to the bed. “I know you don’t want to leave him, but you know he’d hate you sitting here over him.”

_ I do know. _

“Come on,” May continues. Tony doesn’t move his eyes from Peter’s still form, and May sighs. “You want me to say it? I’ll say it. You smell. Go take a shower.”

Tony’s lips curl up ever slightly in what may be a rueful smile as he slowly pushes himself up from the chair, his joints aching. May takes his place with a sigh, settling in as Tony trudges from the room. It won’t be long until he returns.

An hour later (he had fallen asleep while choosing his socks and hates himself for it), Tony rushes back to the med bay, wearing something more representative of a middle-aged, unemployed man than the owner of a large tech company. His socks don’t even match, but when he reaches Peter’s room, he finds he doesn’t care.

Tony stands in the doorway, peering inside to where May is leaning over the bed, speaking. When she leans back, Tony can see-

Peter’s eyes are open.

He’s looking up at May. He’s smiling.

He’s okay.

Tony backtracks down the hall the way he had come, finding an empty closet and stepping inside. He leaves the lights off and collapses against the door, dropping to the floor and placing his head in his hands.

He’ll never forget how Peter begged Tony to save him, as if Tony would do anything else.

Tony doesn’t deserve to be in that room, with them. Peter should be with May, his  _ true  _ guardian, the woman who would never scream at him or say the wrong thing or… or  _ fail,  _ as a parent, as Tony had done.

Tony doesn’t deserve to be in that room.

The closet begins to glow a faint blue hue, Friday offering Tony some light.

“Boss?” she says, her voice soft - unusual, but not unexpected, for the AI. “Peter is asking for you. Should I tell him where you are?”

_ No,  _ Tony wants to yell, but his throat is choked with tears and nothing comes out. He wants to shake his head but he’s unable to do anything but force his forehead into the crook of his elbow and  _ breathe,  _ to force air in and out. Why is this so hard? Why can’t he just  _ live?  _ Why is he such a damn screw-up? He destroys everything he touches, he  _ kills  _ everything he touches-

“Mr. Stark?” a faint voice calls, accompanied by a knock on the door. Tony’s sob catches in his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s Peter.”

_ I know, kid. I’d know your voice anywhere. _

“Can I come in?”

Tony should pretend he’s not in here. This is mortifying, the richest man in the world sobbing in a broom closet, but at the moment he doesn’t care, not one bit. Because Peter is  _ alive,  _ and he’s standing on the other side of that door.

Tony pushes himself to his feet and reaches for the handle, cracking open the door.

Peter twists his fingers in front of his hospital gown, his hair disheveled. Tony averts his gaze from the way the left shoulder of the gown doesn’t seem to fit right, being placed atop piles of gauze. Peter gives a faint smile above it all.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Tony says, his voice weak.

Peter shrugs. “Friday told me where you were.”

“That little snitch,” Tony mutters before he can stop himself, just so damn happy to see his kid up, walking, talking, and- and  _ alive. _

Peter’s face falls. “... You were hiding from me?”

“No! Not at- no, I wasn’t, I just….” Tony sighs, leaning his forehead against the wood. “You want to come in? There’s room enough for two.”

Peter drops his gaze as he steps past Tony, into the small broom closet. Tony closes the door behind Peter and settles back against it. Peter joins him at his side, close, but not touching.

Tony’s chest feels hollow.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says after a moment, not knowing what to say but starting with the easiest thing he could think of.

Peter nods. “Thank you for helping me,” he says, keeping his eyes down.

“Peter, you… you don’t have to thank me for that,” Tony says earnestly, adn Peter nods, keeping his eyes down. “I mean it. I would’ve come for you in a heartbeat, no matter what.”

Peter sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry that I bothered you,” he whispers, words spilling out all at once. “I’m sorry that I talk too much and- and I’m annoying, I know I am, and I’m sorry that I bothered you and then that I didn’t talk to you at all but then I called you to help me and that wasn’t fair, but thank you for coming and I promise I’ll never do it again-”

Tony interrupts Peter by grabbing the boy and pulling him forward, planting a hand on the back of Peter’s head and holding him to his chest. Peter fights him, but Tony is unrelenting and after a moment Peter gives in, his shoulders beginning to tremble slightly. Tony begins to rock them back and forth, being mindful of Peter’s shoulder.

“ _ I’m  _ sorry, Peter, okay?” he whispers. “ _ I  _ am. It was my fault. I snapped, and you weren’t deserving of it.”

“Miste-”

“Shh, no. The adult is talking.” Peter sags further against Tony. “I don’t mind you speaking, Peter, I swear. I love it, actually. I love hearing you talk about your day and your interests and things you just realized and how you find it so interesting that there’s a place in the universe where nothing, not even time, exists. I love it, and… and I love  _ you,  _ and I never want you to stop doing that! And I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself, and I’m sorry I… I scared you, and I’m sorry that it took you getting hurt for us to have this discussion.”

Peter sniffles, and Tony tightens his grip on the boy. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” he whispers.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, his heart breaking into a mission pieces.

“I promise you, I will  _ never  _ hate you. I had a bad day, and I took it out on you, which was  _ wrong  _ in every way possible and....” Tony takes a deep breath. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Pete. I need you to understand that.”

Peter doesn’t answer, and Tony says nothing more. The words sit in the still air between them, and Tony will hold Peter until they sink in, until Peter understands.

The worst mistake of Tony’s life was making Peter think he never cared about him.

Tony will never make that mistake again.


	61. Applying makeup

Peter sits in front of his vanity, makeup brushes sprawled before him as he leans over the counter to peer closer at himself in the mirror. He’s just applying a stroke of eyeshadow when the floorboards in his doorway creak and Peter whirls around, makeup brush falling from his trembling hand.

Tony stands in the doorway, arms crossed. He stares at Peter, expression inscrutable, and Peter feels his heartbeat quicken.

“What a disappointment,” Tony huffs.

Peter’s heart skips a beat in his chest. Surely Tony can’t mean that? “I thought I was home alone,” he says quietly, voice wavering.

“I can’t believe this,” Tony continues, shaking his head. Peter drops his gaze as his cheeks heat up, the makeup on his face suddenly feeling like clown’s paint.

“I-it was just something I wanted to try.”

Tony shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward into the room. Peter takes a step back.

“I take you into my home-” _Step_.

“Mr. Stark, I-”

“I give you access to all the resources in the world-” _Step._

“I’m sorry, please-”

“And still, you choose blue eyeshadow?”

Peter’s heart beats loudly in his chest. His breathing is fast, and his vision is blurred with the beginning of tears- but did Tony just say….

Slowly, shamefully, Peter lifts his gaze. Tony’s picking through the makeup on Peter’s desk, and when he sees Peter looking, he turns and offers a small smile.

“Come on, blue doesn’t look good on anybody. You didn’t even apply a base coat. It’s called foundation for a reason, you know.”

Peter blinks quickly, staring at Tony’s face as if to be sure it isn’t a mask, that it’s not going to change if he looks away.

“So you’re not….” Tony looks up, and Peter clears his throat. “You’re not… mad?”

Tony offers a small smile, giving Peter a light pat on the shoulder. “‘Course not. You’re my kid, Pete,” he says softly, and Peter’s expression morphs into one of relief. He feels he might just fall over with the sudden warmth that rushes into his veins.

Tony’s not finished. “Not mad. Disappointed, though. All those years at school; did you never learn colour theory?”

“Blue is actually complimentary to orange, so-”

Tony fixes Peter with a hard stare. “Betrayal,” he mutters, and Peter laughs. “No, for your skin tone, the craziest you could go is… green, maybe? A nice olive colour. Don’t tell me you have blue, and not green-”

Peter reaches around Tony, gesturing to one of the containers on the desk. “There,” he points out quietly, still not sure this isn’t a dream.

Tony reaches for it, opening it and inspecting it like it’s gold. He holds the palette up to Peter’s cheek, and Peter forces himself to remain still. “Yes,” Tony says quietly, “that’ll do. Now go wash off that monstrosity and come on back so I can teach you how to apply it properly, alright?”

Peter moves toward the door, eyes down and smile hidden - and then he stops, turning and looking back toward where Tony is arranging the makeup on his desk into neat piles.

“Mr. Stark?” he says, and Tony turns, expression open. “Thank you.”

Tony smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing to it, Pete.”

Peter skips off to the bathroom, his heart the lightest it’s felt in months.


	62. Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW dubcon, emotional manipulation

Things are fine. Seriously, they’re fine.

Okay, not really.

But they’re the best Peter’s going to get, so he’s just got to ride this out, right?

Peter’s never had a girlfriend before. He’s wanted one since he was ten, someone to shower with affection, someone to love him in return, but no one ever looked his way. The large glasses (that May tried to assure him were _adorable, oh, Petey, my little lovebug_ ) and braces made sure of that, and once he got to high school and finally got his braces off and switched to contacts, Flash took their place. No one would look his way after Flash chose Peter as his punching bag, and he gave up on dating all together. Maybe his luck would turn when he moved on to university.

In the meantime, Peter signed up for a dating app. Yeah, he’s underage, but the terms and conditions never stopped anyone - and, boy, is he glad, because he meets a girl.

Her name is Maya.

She’s gorgeous, really, black hair so dark it’s almost blue and hazel eyes that glimmer, and she shares a lot of Peter’s interests, too; she’s an ‘80s movie buff, she _loves_ comic books, and she also enjoys biology. Really, it’s a match made in heaven.

Peter hesitates before swiping right. She’s 20 - well, he’s 16. That’s not too bad, right? Plus, they’re a great match! They’re practically perfect for each other. Peter would be an idiot to let this opportunity slip away.

He swipes right, and he sends her a message.

_Hello. :)_

She responds almost instantly.

 _Hey there_.

And, they’re off.

//

They text back and forth, and Maya’s the sweetest, really, always checking in, always asking how he’s doing. They discuss Peter’s favourite films, and Maya tells him about some of her own, and she makes them sound so enticing! Peter wants to watch them, but watching Maya’s favourite movies without her, that would be unfair. And Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, he didn’t want to meet her in real life.

Three weeks into their relationship, Peter sends her a text.

_How would you like to meet up? I really want to see this Dead Poets Society._

_And I’d love to show you. This Saturday?_

_Sounds great! Where do you want to meet? Is it playing in a theatre somewhere?_

_A movie from 1989, in theatres in 2017? Don’t be an idiot_.

Peter gnaws on his lower lip as his brow furrows. Yeah, that was a stupid text. Shouldn’t have suggested that.

 _How about my house? I have it on DVD_.

Her house. Maya’s house.

Peter knows he shouldn’t agree. She’s a stranger; he barely even knows her. May doesn’t even know Peter’s on this app, doesn’t know he’s communicating with someone he doesn’t know personally, someone four years older - but… well, Peter feels like he _does_ know Maya. She cares about him. She expresses interest in Peter, connects with him like no one else does. She told him he was mature for his age, and Peter will never forget the way his heart warmed when he read that text. That’s a good thing, right?

 _Sure :)_ he texts, grinning from ear to ear.

He’s going to meet her.

//

Saturday arrives. Peter tells May he’s going on an afternoon patrol, tells her his suit is in his backpack, and leaves through the front door.

Maya meets him outside, and she’s even more beautiful in person.

Her smile lights up the entire block as she stands in front of her car, grinning at him. Peter runs a hand through his hair. She’s gorgeous. He’s so lucky that he caught her attention, that she deemed him worthy of giving it.

“Ready to go?” Maya asks with a twinkle in her eye that practically has Peter melting. He climbs into her car, not a twinge of fear. He knows Maya. He trusts her.

She drives him to a part of town he’s never been in. The buildings are older, tightly-packed apartments and townhouses. Well, it’s kind of pretty, if Peter thinks about it. It’s a piece of history, right? In- in some way.

He catches sight of a man standing on the curb who makes eye contact with Peter as they drive past. Fear strikes Peter’s heart and he looks away.

He’s with Maya.

He’s _safe_ with Maya.

Maya turns the car into an underground parking garage, and Peter swallows thickly. Something feels off; something’s not right. He wonders if he should warn Maya, but- no. She’s older. She’s more responsible; she knows what she’s doing. She’ll protect them.

Maya pulls the car into a spot near the back of the garage. It’s dark - the garage as a whole is dimly lit, but in this corner, there’s no light in sight.

But- but Maya’s safe. Peter knows she is. He trusts her.

Peter reaches for the door handle, but the door locks. He peers over his shoulder.

“We don’t have to rush,” Maya tells him with a small smile. Yeah, Peter likes her smile. “Come here.” Dutifully, Peter slides closer to her. She leans forward, eyes beginning to flutter closed as she reaches a hand for Peter’s chin.

Peter jumps back.

Maya stops, looking hurt. “Peter,” she whispers, “don’t you trust me?”

Peter forces himself to nod. “Of course,” he answers, because _of course_ he does.

He does, right?

“Come on,” Maya urges again. “I feel a connection between us, Peter, I really do. I like you a lot. Don’t you like me, too?”

Peter smiles, but it feels fake. Why does it feel fake? “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“Good. Now, come here.”

Again, Peter leans forward. His hands are trembling - why are they trembling?

Maya presses her lips to Peter’s. She snakes a hand around his neck, holding him there. Peter’s first kiss.

He should like it. He… he does, doesn’t he?

He ignores the twisting in his gut.

He’s with Maya.

He’s _safe_ with Maya.

//

_Two weeks later_

Tony knows something’s up.

Peter’s pale as he sits at his desk. His phone is face down, but just inches away from his hand. Ready to grab if necessary, but it’s like hiding something, almost lying to himself.

The question is, _what?_

“Pete,” Tony says, and Peter shoots his eyes up. They’re wide, frightened. “You alright?”

Peter smiles, but it’s crooked. “Yeah,” he answers. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter’s phone beeps, a notification, and Peter jumps, hand reaching instantly for it. He reads the text, and his lips twist downward, fingers trembling as he types back a response.

“Who is it?” Tony asks, suddenly worried - no, beyond worried. _Terrified_.

“Huh?” Peter looks up at Tony. “Oh, uh, no one. I’ve gotta go.” Peter begins gathering his things, hands shaking as he does so - it takes him three tries to pick up his pencil.

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

“Peter.”

“Hm?” Peter’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths as he makes eye contact with Tony. He looks two seconds away from breaking.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Peter forces a smile through pale lips. “Of course.” And with that he’s out the door, leaving Tony to wonder what the _hell_ is going on.

Tony calls May not even a minute after Peter leaves, pacing the lab as he holds his phone to his ear.

“ _Hello?_ ” May answers.

“May. Did you just text Peter?”

“ _Um, no, I didn’t. Why?_ ”

“He just got a text and left. I was wondering if it was from you.”

There are scuffles from May’s end of the line and when she speaks again, it’s quieter, less background noise. “ _No, I didn’t say anything. Is he okay?_ ”

Tony doesn’t want to stress her out, but he’s pretty stressed out, himself. “He seemed terrified,” Tony admits, setting the phone on speaker and moving to his computer.

“ _But why would he-_ ”

“I don’t know,” Tony snaps. He stops, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“ _Don’t yell at me again, and we’re even._ ”

Despite himself, Tony smiles. “Look, I can get into his phone and read his messages-”

“ _You can?_ ” May demands. “ _How?_ ”

“He’s connected to the Wi-Fi at the tower, and he gave me his phone passwords in case of an emergency. At this point, it’s too easy.”

May hums her disapproval. “ _Remind me to use my data whenever I’m not at home._ ”

“Noted. Do I have your permission to read his texts?”

“ _If you didn’t do it, I would._ ”

“Do you know how?”

“ _I’d… figure it out, I dunno. Just hurry up and do it already._ ” Tony sets to work, and a moment later, May says quietly, “ _I’m scared, Tony._ ”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. “Me, too.”

It only takes Tony a couple of minutes to access Peter’s most recent texts. He frowns as he looks them over. “Do you know anything of a Maya?”

“ _It could be MJ’s first- no, wait, her name’s Mary Jane. So, no, I guess I don’t._ ”

“She told Peter to meet her at her place. It could just be a friend, you know how teens keep unnecessary secrets-” Tony keeps reading. “… _Girl_ friend,” he continues.

“ _Peter never told me anything about a girlfriend,_ ” May says quietly. “ _How long has this been going on?_ ”

Tony scrolls to the top of his screen. “Since last month, it seems.”

“ _I’ve never heard of her,_ ” May whispers, audibly upset. “ _Why would he hide-_ ”

“He’s on a dating site,” Tony interrupts, disbelieving of what he sees on his screen. When he registers it, his blood runs cold. “May, she’s 20.”

“ _She’s- what? I don’t-_ ” Tony investigates further - and then, he curses, picking his phone back up to his ear as he races from the lab, not even bothering to shut down his computer. “ _What is it, Tony?_ ”

“I’m coming to pick you up,” Tony says as he races to the garage. “We’re going to pay this Maya a visit. What they’re doing, it isn’t legal. And Peter….” Tony sucks in a breath. “He really doesn’t seem happy about it.”

May’s voice is tense on the other side of the line. “ _When will you be here?_ ”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“ _Get here in five._ ”

//

Peter sits on Maya’s couch, back rigid against the cushions. This isn’t his first time in her apartment, but he feels as if it is, and he’s become no more comfortable overtime, as he expected he would.

Maya approaches the back of the couch, running her hands along Peter’s shoulders. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to flinch away. _She’s safe. She’s teaching you. She’s safe. It’s okay. She loves you._ At least, she says she does.

“You’re so tense,” Maya says, sliding her hands across Peter’s shoulders, down his chest. He swallows thickly. _She’s teaching you. She says it always feels this way. She’s safe. It’s okay. She’s safe._

Maya rounds the couch, keeping one hand on Peter at all times. She settles beside him, practically sitting on his thigh.

Peter keeps his eyes forward, but Maya grabs his chin, tilting it in her direction. “Come on, don’t you love me?” she asks, and she looks so sad, Peter _can’t_ disappoint her.

“Of course,” he whispers, clearing his throat when barely a noise escapes. “Of course,” he repeats, louder.

Maya leans forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. It takes all of Peter’s will to lean into it instead of pushing away.

Maya reaches her hands up to Peter’s chest and begins to push him back, against the couch.

“Maya-”

“Shh,” she says as she guides him to lay flat. “I’m helping you to learn. You don’t want to be a prude your whole life, do you?”

Peter’s heartbeat quickens at he looks up at her. “Shouldn’t it… feel… good?” he mutters.

“You just have to be warmed up to it. Come on, I’ll help you,” she whispers.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. _Just like last time_ , he thinks. _Don’t focus on it. Put your mind somewhere else-_

A knock at the door shocks Peter out of his thoughts and his eyes fly open.

Maya sighs as she climbs off the couch. “I’ll be right back,” she urges softly. “Don’t go anywhere.” Phantom ants crawl up and down Peter’s skin as he forces himself to lie still.

He hears the door open; and then, he hears a familiar voice.

“Where is he?”

“May?” Peter calls desperately, involuntarily, shoving up from the couch. He spots her in the doorway and tears rush to the surface as May shoves an offended Maya aside and hurries to Peter’s side, arms outstretched. Peter falls forward into them, sobbing before he even realizes he’s hurt, not remembering what _safe_ feels like until he’s in May’s arms, being rocked back and forth.

“He is a minor,” Peter hears someone growl. _Tony_ , he thinks with a start. Tony’s here?

Peter should feel embarrassed, but all he feels is safe. He’s _safe_ , and he doesn’t doubt it.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” May whispers as she squeezes Peter tight. Peter hugs her back, hands scrambling for purchase, a desperate reach to feel _safe_ again.

He forgot what that felt like.

“You will leave right now and turn yourself in to the cops,” he hears Tony demand, and the anger in his voice leaves Peter shivering. May holds him tighter in response.

“It’s not illegal,” Maya stutters. “It’s less than a five year difference-”

“But was it consensual?” Tony’s almost yelling now.

“Yes! Yes, it was!”

“Peter?” Tony demands, and Peter flinches against May’s side. He barely musters up the courage to shake his head.

“He says no,” May relays.

“You will go, _now_ ,” Tony growls. “You will never engage with a minor again, unless you want to be on both the cops’ watch list, and Iron Man’s.” Peter shivers at the tone in Tony’s voice. He hears nothing more but hurried footsteps and a door slam, and suddenly there’s a new presence at Peter’s side, a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinches away and the hand retracts immediately.

“It’s just Tony,” May says quietly, stroking a hand along Peter’s back as she rocks them gently back and forth. She sounds like she’s holding back tears.

Peter lifts his head from May’s shoulder. Tony stands a couple of feet away, eyes wide. Scared.

He manages a small smile when he meets Peter’s eyes.

“Hey, there, bud,” he says quietly, the difference in his tone stark. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Peter shakes his head and Tony nods, relieved. “Why did you do that, Pete? Why did you meet with her?”

Peter pinches his lips shut as he stares at the ground, tears beginning to fall. May wipes gently at them as Tony moves forward, crouching to meet Peter’s gaze.

“Hey, hey, I’m not mad. I promise, I’m not mad. I just want to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

 _I am_ , Peter thinks. _I know I am_.

“She was so nice,” Peter whispers, embarrassed. “She- she talked to me, and she ch-checked in with me, and she… she told me she was helping me and….” A sob wracks through Peter’s body and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was stupid, I was _so_ stupid-”

“No. No, hey.” Tony reaches forward, grabbing Peter’s hand, as May pulls him back against her side. “You’re not stupid, and you have _nothing_ to apologize for. She took advantage of you, Pete. It wasn’t your fault, none of it was.”

“But if- if I didn’t talk to her-”

“We’re going to have a discussion about talking to strangers, definitely,” May says gently. “There are bad people in the world, baby. People who take advantage of others for personal gain. I’m so sorry you had to meet one of them, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Peter nods, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears fall and he presses himself tighter against May’s chest.

Tony stands, arms reaching around Peter from the opposite side, encompassing him in a complete blanket of protection, of safety.

Peter hears May whisper, “You’ll make sure-”

“Definitely,” Tony says, voice harsh, but that’s it.

Peter’s in an unfamiliar place. He feels the ghost of unfamiliar hands brush over his skin, but on top of that there’s the very real feeling of _safe_ hands, of comforting touches and warm embraces, and he decides to focus on those, instead.


	63. Howard Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW child abuse

Peter lies back on the couch in Dad’s office, sketchpad in his lap and headphones in his ears. Gregory Alan Isakov soothes him as he works on a portrait for art class, photographic memory saving him the needless hassle of using a reference.

He’d arrived half an hour ago, taking a bus from school after Tony had texted him, warning that he’d be late and Peter could spend time in the office while he waited. Peter let himself up when he arrived, greeting all employees he passed by name. He let himself in to the vacant office and got settled on the couch; whenever Dad said he worked late, he could be stuck in meetings anywhere from ten extra minutes, all the way until midnight, on some not-so-rare occasions. And so, Peter is prepared to wait.

What he _isn’t_ prepared for, however, is for a man to walk into the office, and for Peter’s gut instincts to claim _safe_ at the sight of the familiar face - except, this face _isn’t_ familiar. It bears some resemblance, sure, a twinkle in his dark eyes, a sharp jawline, but despite the similarities of the man that just walked in, he is _not_ Tony.

Meaning, he must be Howard.

Howard, the grandfather Peter never wanted to meet. Peter heard nothing of Howard when he was young, Tony had made sure of that. Once Peter got old enough to realize someone in his family tree was missing, Tony sat him down, explained the person Howard was, but left it up to Peter to decide whether or not he wanted to meet his grandfather. Peter steadfastly declined, and his opinion remained unchanged.

Now, though, the universe must’ve made a different decision for him.

Peter pulls the headphones from his ears, watching warily as Howard steps into the room. He scans the bookshelves to the left, looks to the desk across the far wall, and finally his eyes land on Peter, and his spine stiffens.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Howard demands immediately. Peter’s eyes narrow as he looks up at Howard from the couch, Tony’s stories coming flooding back. This is a man that deserves no respect - at least, he’ll be getting none from Peter.

“Peter,” he introduces himself. Howard scoffs at him, at the basic introduction that reveals too little. Peter doesn’t care; he won’t be giving any more.

“What are you doing in my office?” Peter bites back a retort. _Not your office_. “You’d better start answering me. I can have security here in two seconds flat.” _Call ‘em_ , Peter taunts silently, hiding a grim smile. _Officer Lily gave me a piece of candy on the way in; I sincerely doubt she’d throw me out._ “You at least got a last name, Peter?”

Peter lifts his chin. “Stark.”

Howard laughs, reaching for the phone in his back pocket. “Alright, show’s over, pal. I’m calling security.”

“I doubt they’d throw out the person who’ll be inheriting this office after Dad’s gone,” Peter challenges, unable to restrain himself. He’s not actually taking over the company - he told Tony he wasn’t interested, and Tony backed off, but Howard doesn’t need to know that.

Peter glares up at Howard, who freezes, hand half way to his phone.

“Dad,” he mouths silently, repeating as he analyzes Peter. His leans closer, eyes narrowing. “You’re not kidding about being a Stark, are you?”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be a genius,” Peter mutters. Howard flushes red, but Peter doesn’t care; this is the man that’s abused and manipulated his father since before he was able to speak (and considering he’s Tony Stark, that was at a very young age).

“You can’t possibly be my grandson, as you’re implying. Anthony’s never mentioned having a kid. No Stark would sit hunched over as you are, and they _definitely_ wouldn’t be so disrespectful to their elders!” Howard spits, jowls shaking as the anger reaches his nervous system. Peter just shakes his head, turning his eyes back to his homework and hunching down lower, moving to place his earphone back in. Howard moves forward before he can, slapping Peter’s wrist and causing it to fall.

Peter looks up at Howard, eyes wide. His hand remains suspended in the air, wrist stinging, but Peter refuses to look at it, to cradle it, to acknowledge he feels the pain in any way. Howard glares back at him, unapologetic, unforgiving.

Any doubt Peter might’ve felt at Tony’s recounting of stories of his childhood is proved to be false in this moment as Peter looks into the eyes of his grandfather, the man who had just slapped him, a tingling racing up and down the sensitive flesh of Peter’s arm that he desperately wants to hold an ice pack to. He refuses to give Howard the satisfaction.

“You will treat me with respect,” Howard demands, voice quiet, but no less threatening. “Now, why did Anthony keep the fact that he had a child from his own father?” He looks at Peter, as if Peter would know. “Are you a bastard? Is that it?”

Peter just grins. “I may be, but not one as great as you, that’s for sure.”

This time Howard smacks Peter right across the face and his head snaps to the side, cheek stinging. Tears involuntary rush to his eyes and Peter fights to blink them away. He will _not_ cry, not in front of this man. Peter won’t give him the satisfaction, no matter how much it stings, no matter how inferior he’s being forced to feel right now-

“Sit up straight.”

Peter’s embarrassed to say he obeys, sliding his notebook off his lap and stiffening his spine to stare Howard in the eye.

“Much better. Now, if you’re who you claim to be, tell me something about Anthony that only his son would know.”

“I don’t have to prove myself to you.”

Howard raises his hand once more, and Peter hates himself for flinching, for squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away. “Stark men don’t cry,” Howard tsks. “They’re made of iron, which you, evidently, are not.”

“You sent him a tie for the 50th anniversary of the company, but nothing for his 50th birthday,” Peter says without meaning to. Why does he want to prove himself to Howard? Why does he want to prove himself worthy of being a Stark if _this_ is what it means?

 _No_ , Peter tries to convince himself. _You want to prove yourself worthy of being Dad’s son._

_But Dad would never ask you to do that._

Howard rocks back on his heels, sighing, as he takes in Peter. He must believe that Peter is who he claims to be because Howard looks to the sketchbook, cast aside. “Alright, let’s take a look at these bluepr-” Howard freezes, picking up the sketchbook. Peter’s stomach churns as Howard begins flipping through; seeing his property in this monster’s hands sets his blood boiling.

“What are these?” Howard mutters, roughly flipping through the pages; Peter winces at every new crease made.

“Sketches,” he mutters, watching at Howard takes in the two-point perspective made last month, and the piece he made for the colour theory unit last November.

“Why are you… _doodling?_ ” Howard demands, and Peter flinches, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Because I-I like it,” he confesses, not sure why it _feels_ like a confession, like something he should be hiding; it never did before.

“Well, where are your blueprints, all your designs?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why not?”

 _Because I’m not an engineer._ The words are on the tip of Peter’s tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say them; for some reason it feels like a betrayal to confess to.

“I asked you a question, boy.”

Peter flinches away from Howard’s sharp tone. “I’m not an engineer,” he says quietly.

“You’re not?” Howard scoffs. “Then what the hell _do_ you do?”

“I… I like… art.”

Howard steps closer, towering above Peter. Peter sees Howard’s shadow on the floor at his feet; he keeps his head down. “ _That’s_ what you study? You study art?” Peter gives a meek nod. “And where will that get you?”

 _I don’t know. I don’t know._ Peter’s doubted his abilities in the past, doubted he was good enough, doubted he had the talent, doubted he could make a job and an income out of it. Doubted his choices and everything he’d ever enjoyed, doubted the courses he chose on the selection sheet at the beginning of every school year, flinched when he allowed his pencil to pass over _mechanical engineering_ to land on _visual arts_ instead; but Dad had sat by him the entire time, talking through each choice with him, determining what Peter would enjoy and which courses would open up viable paths in the future to get Peter where he wanted to go.

Tony hadn’t even blinked when Peter shared that he wanted to go into the arts; Peter had arrived home from school the next day to find a sketchpad and a set of drawing pencils on his bed. Now, he wonders if Tony had been faking, if he’s actually disappointed in his son, but had never expressed it.

Peter feels like a failure.

“No child of mine would pursue the _arts_. It’s a useless career path; it’ll get you nowhere. Maths and sciences, now, _that’s_ a lucrative choice. You’d actually be able to do something useful with your talents! I’ll have to speak to your father about this-”

“And tell me what?”

Peter’s eyes snap up and he sees Tony standing in the doorway, his guardian angel, eyes fixed on Howard. “Go on, Dad. What do you want to say?” Tony crosses his arms tightly over his chest, chin raised, and Peter can’t help but feel frightened, though he knows the anger isn’t directed at him… he _thinks_ it isn’t.

A stinging blooms on his right wrist and his left cheek.

 _No child of mine would pursue the arts_. Is that Tony’s mentality, too?

“Anthony,” Howard says, chin lifted expectantly. “You have a son.”

“I do.”

“And you never told me about him?”

“Well, as great as a job you did parenting me, I just decided to keep him to myself, try this one on my own.” Tony’s tone is dripping with sarcasm, and Howard scrunches his nose in disapproval.

“Sarcasm,” he sniffs. “Told you you’d be a great man someday.”

“Don’t I remember,” Tony says with a grim smile. “No, go on. You were about to tell me how I’m failing my son.”

Howard reaches for the sketchbook he’d dropped to the couch. An involuntary sound of protest rips through Peter’s throat and he wants to reach for it, but decides against it at the last moment, his red skin warning him not to. He sinks back into the cushions. Tony’s eyes fly to his son, noticing the bit of protest, the slight movement.

Howard waves the sketchbook around, brandishing it like a weapon. “He’s _doodling_ , Anthony! He has the mind of an inventor, the status to get him there, and the expectations he _must_ meet! Do you want the family to be a laughing stock? But instead, he’s spending his time imagining fictional worlds, rendering himself _useless_ to the one he should be taking over-”

Howard throws the sketchbook to the ground and Peter lurches forward, arms outstretched, but Tony holds a hand out in Peter’s direction.

Peter hates that he flinches. Even more, he hates that Tony takes notice.

“Stay there, Pete,” Tony says, tone suddenly gentle, smiling softly. It’s all gone when he turns back to Howard. “Pick it up,” he demands, voice quiet.

Howard shakes his head. “Anthony, you can’t be serious-”

“Pick it up,” Tony repeats, “and give it back to the kid.” His eyes are dark, shadowed as he tilts his head down, glaring up at Howard through his lashes. Howard gives a sound of protest, of indignation.

“He will be the ruin of the Stark name,” Howard yells, throwing his hand out to gesture to Peter, “and _you_ are handing him the tools to get there on a silver platter!”

“He’s the best of us all,” Tony says quietly, eyes steadfastly on his father’s. “Last chance. Pick up the sketchbook.”

Howard huffs, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes wide as he stoops to pick up the book. He throws it behind him without a glance; it lands on the cushion right beside Peter’s leg. He refuses to flinch. He will not react.

“Get out,” Tony demands, standing tall. Howard glares at him, and for a moment Peter fears neither of them will move. And then, finally, Howard storms forward, brushing past Tony without a word as he stomps out of the room.

Tony watches him leave, pushing the glass door shut the second he’s gone, and in an instant his demeanor changes, fisted hands falling lax and shoulders dropping. He turns to Peter, jaw unclenching and eyes growing wide with worry as he hurries to Peter’s side, settling beside him on the couch.

“I’m so sorry, Petey,” he says quietly as he tugs Peter to his chest, placing a hand on the back of Peter’s head. “I’m sorry you had to meet him. I didn’t know he was going to be here- _I_ should’ve been here….” He leans back, cradling Peter’s face in his palms. “Are you-”

Tony freezes, leaning closer. He swipes a thumb over Peter’s left cheek, and the inflamed skin screams in protest; it takes all Peter has to simply squeeze his eyes shut in pain instead of flinching away.

“He hit you,” Tony says, voice quiet and dangerous. The fear that enters Peter’s heart is indescribable. He doesn’t want to be afraid; he’s not afraid. He won’t be. _Stark men don’t cry. They’re made of iron, which you, evidently, are not._ But Peter wants to be. He will be.

“Look at me,” Tony whispers, and Peter forces his eyes open. They’re full of tears. _Don’t cry. Stark men don’t cry, they don’t cry_ \- “Did he hit you?” Tony asks, expression kind, but no less serious. Peter forces himself to maintain eye contact, and he nods.

Tony blinks, but otherwise doesn’t react. “Your cheek?” Peter nods. “Anywhere else?”

Tony’s eyes trail down to Peter’s wrist. He already knows. Peter wonders if he saw the red, or if it’s just from experience, but Peter offers his right wrist anyway.

Tony takes it in one hand, gently placing the other atop it. “I’m so sorry, piccolino,” Tony whispers, shaking his head as he meets his son’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. I- I’m going to call him. I’m going to tell him-”

“No,” Peter begs. “Please.”

Tony’s brow furrows, and he leans in closer. “What did he tell you?” Peter keeps his lips fixed shut. Stark men don’t cry. _Made of iron_. “It’s okay to cry,” Tony says quietly, brushing Peter’s hair back from his face. His expression is understanding. _He knows_. Of course he knows; he had to grow up with Howard. Peter just interacted with him for five minutes. “It’s okay to cry,” Tony repeats, and Peter lets the tears fall, the permission something he never knew he needed.

“It hurts,” Peter whispers, and Tony nods, pulling Peter back to his chest.

“I know. I’m so sorry, baby. We’ll get you some ice, okay?” Peter nods, sniffling. “But first, can you tell me what he told you?”

_Stark men are made of ir-_

_It’s okay to cry._

“I’m sorry I chose the arts,” Peter murmurs. He feels Tony tense beneath him, but he keeps going. “I’m sorry I-I don’t like technology, or engineering, and I’m sorry I don’t want to take over the company, and I’m sorry I’m useless and a failure and a disgrace to the name-”

“Hey, hey,” Tony soothes, craning his neck to meet Peter’s eyes. “Not a single word of that is true, you hear me?”

“But- but Stark men are made of-”

“That man out there,” Tony interrupts, “he’s made of bitterness, and anger, and disgust and- and loneliness - but you, right here?” Tony touches a finger to Peter’s chest. “You are made of _you_ , one-hundred percent, and only you can decide what that is. You are made of… of _beautiful_ things, Peter! So many masterpieces, and-” Tony picks up the sketchbook. “And this, here? _This_ is what you are made of, beautiful colours and ornate designs and… and _passion_. And you can never lose that, no matter what you tell yourself, or-” Tony swallows thickly. “Or what you’re told.”

Peter takes the sketchbook gingerly, like it’s glass waiting to break, like it’s something fragile, a small piece of hope in the darkness he’d hate to lose. “But… the company-”

“Is not your concern,” Tony answers, running his fingers through Peter’s hair as Peter leans against his side. “You told me you didn’t want to run it. Did you change your mind?” Peter hesitates, and Tony leans down to meet his eyes. “Did _you_ change your mind? Because no one can change it for you.”

Peter shakes his head. _No, I didn’t change my mind. No, I don’t want to._ The meaning remains the same.

“So, it’s none of your concern what happens to the company. You keep up the _brilliant_ work in here-” he presses his hand to the sketchbook, and Peter smiles- “and you do what makes you happy. I’ll handle the rest, I promise.”

Peter nods, remaining in Tony’s arms for a moment longer before he rises, beginning to gather his things. “I don’t want to see him again,” Peter says, his gaze averted.

“Done,” Tony answers, and Peter nods. He looks around for his earphones - _Where had they fallen?_ \- when a hand crosses his vision, wires tucked safely between them. Peter accepts them, sliding them into his ears, and _Caves_ fills the empty space.

Tony puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders and guides him from the office, turning the lights off as he goes, and Peter lets his eyes fall closed, lets himself be guided through the hallways.

Lets himself be brought home.


	64. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW canonical character death, suicidal thoughts

To Tony, Death is an old friend.

First, she came for his parents. That was Tony’s first meeting with her, and his most devastating. _Why?_ He’d screamed after receiving the phone call. **_No reason will be good enough to garner your understanding,_** was her response. _Why them?_ _ **Their time on this earth is spent.** Why me? _**_Your time is just beginning._**

Tony’s time came next - or, so he thought. But he wasn’t ready; he refused to leave this way. Death revealed to him truth, honesty he had not once opened his eyes to, and how cruel would she be if she ripped him away before he could fix it? _I’m not ready_ , he had begged as he lay on the makeshift bed, dust falling from the cave ceiling above, his life reliant on a car battery. **_Nor are we for you._** _There’s no chance of my survival._ ** _There is always a chance. You just have to fight to create it._**

Time and time again Tony had his brushes with Death. She came for him, fingers caressing his cheeks, tugging at the machinery in place of his heart. _Not yet_ , he pleaded as his own creation was harvested and used against him. **_No_** , Death agreed. _I can still do more!_ He cried as he was torn apart from the inside, his creation now his downfall, the poison delivered to him in a golden goblet. **_Then do it_** , Death challenged, and Tony created a new element. _Let me survive long enough to finish this_ , he whispered as he shouldered the missile, flying up toward that portal. The world turned dark, there was an explosion of light, and his eyes fell closed. **_You will survive this, and more._**

But Tony was getting tired.

And then, Happy wound up in the hospital. _He doesn’t deserve this._ ** _No one ever does._** _Then do something!_ ** _Focus on your task._** _Save him. Wake him up._ _ **It is not his time to leave, nor his time to wake.** And what am I supposed to do with that? _**_You must work._** _Not when he’s in danger._ ** _You are not in the place to make demands. Finish your task. I will attend to mine._** Pepper came next, falling into flames. _Not her_ , Tony sobbed. _Anyone but her._ _ **Finish your task.** SAVE HER- __**She is but a blight in your mission.** She’s my world. _**_And you have to save everyone else’s._** But Pepper was brought back, all the same, just for Rhodes to be thrown down. _Don’t take him from me._ _ **Save him.** I can’t reach him- _**_Save him._** Tony fought as hard as he could, driving Rhodes from hospital to hospital, travelling alongside his gurney as he was wheeled in and out of emergency rooms. He did all he could, built prosthetic after prototype, thought of hundreds of advancements, and Death delivered. Rhodes was saved.

 _Don’t let me die like this,_ Tony begged, blue and red and white above him. _It hurts. It hurts._ _ **This pain is emotional. It will pass. It will scar. You are not ready to leave the physical world yet.** It hurts. End it. Don’t let me die. __**It will pass. You will not.** Fix this pain. _**_This burden is yours to carry._**

Tony’s finished. He’s done. Death can take him now; he doesn’t care. He’ll go.

_Take me._ **_Not yet._ ** _I’m ready-_ **_No, you’re not._ ** _I’ve done all I can!_ **_You still have more to give._ ** _Keep Pepper and Rhodey safe when I’m gone._ **_Death does not promise, nor act prematurely._ ** _And what if I do it? What if I take matters into my own hands?_ **_Rest assured, Death’s doors will remain closed to you until it is your time._ **

_This_ is my time, Tony wants to argue. He’s done with this life. He’s tired. He can’t fight anymore.

And then, Spider-Man comes into his life.

Peter Parker is nothing; he’s an alliance, an associate, a team member. He’ll be taken care of. Tony can leave; Peter will be safe. Tony shouldn’t have to worry; so why does he?

 _I will miss him_ , Tony thinks reluctantly, scared to admit it, _when I’m gone._ _I will miss his smile, and his heart of gold, and his need to do good, and his finding happiness in the smallest things. I will miss his intelligence and his kindness. I will miss his joy and his glee and the miles on his soul that he manages to keep young and innocent. I will miss him._ ** _Yes, you will._**

And then, Death is taking Peter from him, too.

“Mr. Stark?”

A chill sets into Tony’s bones and he turns, terrified of what he’ll see. _Not him. Please, not him._ ** _You failed your mission._**

“I don’t feel so good.”

_Anyone but him._ **_You failed._ **

“You’re alright.” _Let him be alright. I’m begging you._ ** _Death can not be persuaded. It is unrelenting._**

“I don’t- know what’s happening-” Peter stumbles forward into Tony’s arms and Tony’s waiting to catch him, but there’s not much of Peter left to grab.

He’s fading.

He’s leaving.

He’s being taken, too.

_Please, no._ **_You failed._ **

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”

_I’ll do anything._ **_You will have your chance._ **

“Please, Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go-”

_Let me help him. Let me- Take me. Take me instead._ **_Death does not exchange._ **

“I’m sorry.”

_Don’t let him- don’t let him leave! Don’t let him leave me! Take me, please, let him live, take me-_ **_You still have more to give._ **

Tony’s hands land on the dusty ground. Dust. Everything is dust, everywhere he looks, everything he sees.

**_You still have more to give._ **

Five years later, Tony gets his chance.

 _It hurts,_ his mind screams as cosmic gems pierce his skin, as his blood is fused with hatred at the figure that stands before him, as his face lights up with triumph. He can win. He _will_ win. _It hurts._ _ **It will end soon.** Is this the right path? _Death brushes back his hair. **_You have done well. Come home now._**

Through sheer force of will, Tony manages to force his middle finger and thumb together, manages to slide them over each other. There’s a blinding light, a deafening noise, and he’s thrown back - but where is he to go when the explosion comes from within?

 _Have I done it?_ he gasps as he drags himself back, behind a pile of wreckage. _**You have succeeded.** Don’t let them see me, _he begs. _**Allow them to say goodbye.** Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt them. _Because though Tony lost a part of himself on that orange planet, he’s gained so much more, and he’d hate for it to end this way, for them to see him, broken and bruised.

**_You are not broken. You are not bruised. You are a hero, a champion. You are their saviour._ **

Rhodes finds him, how fitting. He’s crying, and Tony wants to tell him to save his tears. _We won. We won._ ** _He knows._** Tony smiles up at Rhodes, and it’s painful, and his vision blurs, but he smirks. _I got that damn bastard._ Rhodes smiles. He gives a wet laugh. _You did. You did._ He steps back. _Goodbye, Tones._ Rhodes is ready. He’s seen this coming. He’s at peace; or, he will be.

Peter is young. He is not ready.

Peter takes Rhodes’ place, falling to his knees just in front of Tony, hands grasping at his suit. _Help him_ , Tony begs. _Tell him not to cry. Wipe away his tears, or allow me to lift my arms so I can._ _ **He is in mourning.** But I’m still here! I’m still here, let me comfort him, let me wrap my arms around him- _**_Allow him the right to feel._**

“Mr. Stark? You did it, Mr. Stark. You won.” _We won. We won, kid._ “You did it, Sir. You did it.” _Let me comfort him. He’s my kid._ _ **He will survive.** Without me. _**_He will be okay._** “I’m sorry.” _Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize. I did this for you, can’t you see?_ ** _He will be okay._** _Let me help him._ ** _He will be okay._** “I’m sorry, Tony….” Peter’s being pulled away, pulled back, head tucked into War Machine’s shoulder. _Help him, Rhodey. Take care of him for me._ ** _He will. He will._**

Pepper comes next, Pepper, the love of his life. His rock through all these years, the mother of his child- _Morgan._ _ **She will be okay.** I’m leaving her without her father- _**_And with very fond memories. You’ve succeeded, Tony. You’ve succeeded._**

“Hey, Pep,” Tony manages to gasp, eyes finding hers, glowing across the battlefield.

“Tony.” Pepper smiles. Her chin wobbles. Tony hears Peter sob. _Peter._ His child. _I need to comfort him._

“Kid….”

**_He will be okay._ **

_Just let me see him-_

“Tony, look at me.”

**_He will be okay._ **

“We’re gonna be okay.” Pepper touches a hand to his chestplate. “You can rest now.”

 ** _They will be okay._** Happy and Rhodey and Pepper and Peter and Morgan, they’ll be okay. They have each other. They will survive, Tony’s ensured it. He’s created a world for them, one to keep them safe, one where they can be happy and live freely. **_They will be okay._**

**_You can rest now._ **

Pepper’s crying, but she will be okay. Rhodey sheds a tear, but he will be okay.

Peter is sobbing.

He will be okay.

_I did this all for you, kid._

Tony leans his head back against the wreckage behind him.

He exhales, one final time.

His arc reactor fades to black.

**_You can rest now._ **

**_Come home._ **

When Tony meets Death, he greets her like an old friend, and she welcomes him with open arms.


	65. Multiverse

When Peter opens his eyes on Sunday morning of March Break, he doesn’t expect to see a woman standing in the doorway of the Stark Tower guest room, of _his_ room, leaning against the wall with an ankle crossed over the other.

She smiles at Peter as he tugs the blankets up to his chin. “Morning.”

Peter’s eyes scan the room. His webshooters - damn, they’re down in the lab. Peter can still take her, hand-to-hand combat - unless, is she mortal, or is she enhanced in some way? Some kind of alien, or robot, or alien-robot?

“Who are you?” he demands, voice shaking so early in the morning. He slides his feet onto the floor and ignores the fact that he’s in Star Wars pajamas - more incentive. He refuses to die wearing these.

The woman smirks as she answers. “I think you know.”

Peter begins to voice a snappy retort when he freezes. The woman has a round face, a smaller than average height, and short, neatly slicked-back hair. Those traits may symbolize nothing individually, but when paired with the large brown eyes that house so much intelligence, that are always so guarded, even without the glasses-

“Tony?”

The woman - Tony? - laughs at Peter’s horrified tone. “Not exactly,” not-Tony says, “but, wow, I guess my counterpart of this universe is a screw-up, as well, for you to jump to that conclusion. Makes this a lot easier for me; we can skip past the whole _prove it_ phase.”

Not-Tony takes a step forward. Peter doesn’t move back; he doesn’t feel the need to. “My name’s Antoinette, Toni for short. With an _i_.”

Peter shakes his head. “Counter part of _this_ universe? That means-” His eyes widen. “The multiverse.”

Toni clicks her tongue. “Nailed it in one.”

“Wait, did-did Tony mess up an experiment?”

“Tony with a _y_ , no. This one was all me. Working with time travel, it’s a tricky thing. Shame, I wanted to show it off to my colleagues tomorrow as a weekend project. Oh, well.” Toni shrugs, unbothered. “Let’s go find your Tony, and then you guys can help send me back. If we work fast enough, we’ll tear no holes in the cosmos, and Stephen won’t have to step in- wait, do you have Stephen here?”

Peter holds a hand to his forehead. It’s too early for this. “Stephe- Strange? Doctor Strange?” Toni nods. “Yeah, but I never got to meet him! Wait, are we going to meet him? Because he seems super cool and- and I should probably change out of my PJs, that would be embarrassing, if I met him in these-”

“So, he’s not your Tony’s husband, then.”

Peter almost chokes on his saliva. “I- _Doctor Strange?_ No. Not- not Tony’s husband, no.”

“Hm. Rogers?”

“ _Steve?_ ” Peter bursts out laughing. Toni hums.

“Gonna take that as a no. That was last week’s universe, then.”

“There’s a Tony somewhere that’s married to Steve?”

Toni regards Peter like he’s crazy. “’Course. There’s also one where he’s married to Rhodes, another where he’s dating Natasha, one really odd one where he’s got something going with Loki-”

Peter slams his hands over his ears. “Okay, alright, enough,” he begs, and Toni laughs.

“Help me find your Tony, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Peter nods, moving instantly, trying to get the image of Tony and- and Loki? out of his head. He leads Toni to his Tony’s bedroom, then to the common area, and finally, down to the labs. Just as he predicted, there’s Tony, sitting at his desk, head buried in a project that’s in too many pieces for Peter to even guess what it is.

“Retro-reflection panels?” Toni calls once they enter. In a moment Tony’s on his feet, gauntlet raised and pointed at her. “Figured those out, just a couple of days ago, actually. Once I’m gone I suggest you call up Keener, he’s really knowledgeable on this, will practically do the whole thing for you-”

“Shut up,” Tony growls, and Toni smiles as the repulsor charges up. “Step away from the kid.”

Toni holds her hands up loosely, more for show than an active surrender. “Wanna give me a minute to explain?”

“Move away, or you’ll be physically unable to.”

“Mr. Stark, let her talk-” Peter tries to beg, but Toni interrupts him.

“You call him Mr. Stark?” she asks. “So, this isn’t the universe where you’re biologically related. But, if you _live_ with him-”

“Last chance,” Tony calls.

“Your worst fear,” Toni says, “aside from, y’know, your loved ones dying or realizing you’re not good enough and leaving you, is spiders. Of course, you’ve never told anyone that, because Dad would laugh and now, well-” She nudges Peter’s arm, and the corner of Tony’s lip curls up in anger as he takes notice. “Now, you work with one, so admitting we’re scared would be kinda stupid.”

Tony’s expression falters, but he holds the gauntlet strong. “ _We?_ ”

Toni offers a little wave. “Hi. Toni with an i. You, from a different universe. Experimented with time travel, it failed, yada-yada. Not the first time. Now, help me get back.”

Tony shakes his head, sighing as he drops his arm. “Honestly, not the weirdest thing I’ve found on a Sunday morning.” He gestures to the desk. “Have a seat.”

Toni grins as she moves over to the seat Peter usually occupies, leaving Peter to sidle up to Tony, hovering by his arm.

“You’re okay with this?” Peter asks Tony as he looks back and forth between two versions of the same person.

“Like I said,” Tony answers, retrieving a notebook and flipping to a new page. “Not the craziest thing I’ve woken up to, and usually, the surprises are lying beside me in bed. I’m more than okay with this turn of events.”

Toni runs a hand through her bobbed hair as she chuckles. “Hey, did you have that night with Cathy? Blond, sassy-”

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“I was getting there, asshole. Crazy in bed, like, a damn wild animal, just tearing the sheets off the mattress-”

“Everhart!” Tony laughs, throwing his head back. “We call her Christine here.”

“Ah, man,” Toni sighs pleasantly. “That was one wild night-”

“Okay, can we get her out of here, please?” Peter begs, shoulders shrugged up by his ears as he tries to retreat into a nonexistent shell.

Tony nudges Peter’s arm. “Oh, come on, we’re all grown ups here. It’s not every day you get to talk to yourself and someone answers back. Anyway,” he turns to Toni, “where did you leave off?”

Toni begins explaining her process, and Tony writes notes, beginning to perform calculations. Toni gives him answers to equations she’s already solved, and Tony copies them down dutifully, beginning to work.

Toni looks up to Peter. “So, I’m confused. You’re not his biological kid, but he lets you sleep in his private quarters, _but_ , you refer to him as Mister Stark. He’s comfortable with you, but you’re not yet with him, so… so what are you?”

Peter opens and closes his mouth, fumbling for something to say, when Tony, without looking up from his work, mutters, “Intern.”

Toni scoffs. “Yeah, no, _my_ Peter’s an intern, and I certainly wouldn’t let him live in my private room. Plus-”

“Sorry, that’s the-” Tony interrupts.

“Morbius strip, yeah. Uh, inverted. Important.”

“How do you invert a-”

“Switch this, here, and-”

“Ah, got it.”

Toni nods, satisfied, and looks back up to Peter. “My intern doesn’t refer to me as _Miss Stark_ ,” she continues, as if she had never been interrupted. It’s a Stark thing, Peter guesses.

“I’m his….” Peter looks for the word; he hopes he chooses the right one. “Um, mentee.”

“I don’t want to have to create time travel- for the second time, it seems-”

“Third,” Toni interrupts Tony. “There’s another Anthony, he’s only twelve, it was purely accidental-”

Tony holds up a hand. “I don’t want to have to invent time travel _and_ hold a conversation at the same time because _you_ -” he points accusatorily at Peter- “don’t know how to properly categorize a relationship. Come on.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist and looks up to Toni. “He’s my kid, he’s just yet to accept it.”

Toni smirks, leaning back in her chair, as Tony returns to his calculations. Peter feels his face growing red and he drops his gaze, fingers tapping madly against his thighs.

“Stop panicking and come to terms with it,” Tony mutters as he scrawls down a new number.

Twenty-three minutes and a coffee run completed by Peter later, Toni is safely returned to her universe, and Tony’s left with a crazed grin on his face.

“Nothing like breaking the laws of the universe to wake you up on a Sunday morning,” he sighs as Peter returns to his desk. “I hope a get to visit her again someday. She’s probably the best woman I’ll ever meet.”

“She’s _you_.”

“And?”

Peter just chuckles before he remembers. “Hey, wanna know what she told me?”

Tony runs a hand through his hair as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Fine, I’m scared of spiders, alright? You got me.”

“No, not that; although, that _is_ insane,” Peter says, and Tony’s eyes narrow.

“Wait, if you’re not even phased by _that_ \- oh, no. What did she tell you?”

Peter smirks. “There’s a universe where you’re dating Natasha, and another where you’re married to Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow. “Wow, good for me. I wonder how I scored that.”

“Mhm. Honestly, they probably took pity on your relentless, annoying, attention-seeking attempts-”

“Hey!

“ _But_ , there’s something else.” Tony licks his lips nervously. “You know there’s a universe where you’re married to Strange?”

“Mm, I see it.”

“You- _what?_ ” Peter shakes his head. “Nevermind, it gets weirder. There’s one with Loki-”

“Yeah, he’s hot.”

“Not even gonna touch that.” Peter’s smile grows, as Tony’s expression simultaneously becomes more worried. “Well, there’s another one, that I think you’ll find quite interesting.” Peter pinches his lips together to contain his laughter. “In one universe, you’re married to….”

Peter erupts into a fit of giggles, and Tony rolls his eyes. “C’mon, kid, you’re leaving me in suspense. You’ve gotta tell me. No matter what happens, in whatever universe, I’m still going to think I’m the coolest guy that ever lived-”

“Steve! You’re married to _Steve!_ ”

Tony just sighs, dropping his head to his desk. For a moment he says nothing as he takes heavy breaths.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks unsurely. Are you-” Tony straightens, reaching once more for his notebook. “What are you doing?”

“Refining my notes,” Tony mutters. “I have to go slap some sense into this other me. What an idiot.”


	66. Soulmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain America: Civil War and Spider-Man: Homecoming compliant

Tony’s soulmark has always been the same, since the day he was born - a small wrench on the inside of his wrist. People take notice of it with a smile when they shake his hand. The great mechanic with a soulmark of a tool? It makes perfect sense.

Everyone has a soulmark, a small birthmark on the inside of their wrist, and somewhere out in the world, there’s another with the same design. Truth is, Tony’s mark isn’t really a wrench; it’s just a unique shape. He likes to think of it as one, though, and when he finally meets Rhodey, when he sees the matching design on his college roommate’s wrist, it all makes sense. Of course it’s a wrench - what else would it be?

Years go by. Tony establishes his company, and Rhodes becomes an esteemed lieutenant colonel of the military. They have dinners together a minimum of twice a week, and they call each other at least once a day. They’re soulmates because the universe says so; it was declared at birth.

And then, the Accords come along.

Steve has gone rogue, and Tony needs support, just someone to get his numbers up so Steve will at least listen when Tony tries to pitch his side. He sees a hero from Queens, a self-proclaimed Spider-Man. He’s a kid, but he can take care of himself. Plus, he’ll be safe. There won’t be a fight; Steve’s too mature for that. Tony will recruit this Spider-Man, work out the Accords, and then they’ll go their separate ways. It’ll all be grand.

Things don’t go as planned. There’s a fight, and then another. Tony’s world falls apart, and he forgets all about the kid; he can’t afford to think about Peter Parker right now, not when he’s busy protecting the rest of the Avengers, getting Ross off their back and fighting to keep them in business.

Peter gets into trouble, again and again, and Tony has to rush to his aid. Doesn’t Peter know that Tony has more important things going on? Peter’s just a kid. He wants to prove himself. Tony gets it, but he _also_ knows the kid is being a massive pain in his side. Tony can’t relax. He can’t focus on what needs to be done if Peter’s running around, stirring up trouble and leaving chaos in his wake, and giving Tony a few extra panic attacks when he gets alert after alert that the kid’s in danger.

So, Tony takes his suit.

He doesn’t want to do it, but it needs to be done. Peter will learn some responsibility, and Tony can finally focus on cleaning up the superhero business. He’s moving them all out to the shiny, brand-new Avengers compound. There’s a gate around it that will _not_ let Ross through, no matter what, and-

And the Stark Industries jet goes down.

Tony’s too damn scared for Peter to be upset at his recklessness. The kid just doesn’t know when to stop, does he? (”Sounds like someone else I know,” Rhodes says when Tony calls him for aid.)

Tony has two choices. He can put Peter in his place, force him to stop and stand down, but that might just make him more eager to continue, to fight to prove himself. Tony tried to take the suit, and _that_ had backfired.

The other option, Tony can take Peter under his wing. He can teach Peter to be a calm and calculating hero (”Like you?” Rhodes’ voice scoffs in Tony’s head). Tony can keep an eye on Peter and ensure he’s being safe.

One is easier than the other, but the other is safer. Plus, only one option will keep the kid happy.

What does Tony value most?

When Happy brings Peter to the compound, Tony still hasn’t decided what he’s going to do - but then, Tony sees Peter’s face, the face of the kid that does good no matter what, that risks death to save the general population even before he’s out of high school, and Tony knows he can’t cut the kid off. He doesn’t even think he wants to.

Tony strolls forward, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulder. Then and there, he makes his decision.

The moment his hand touches Peter’s shoulder, his body is engulfed in warmth. His thoughts settle and his heartbeat slows. He feels at peace, and the feelings all stem from his left wrist.

Tony’s footsteps falter. He meets Peter’s wide eyes.

The kid feels it, too.

Tony removes his hand from Peter’s shoulder and lifts it to his line of sight. He should be shaking; this feels like a monumental moment, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of feeling anything but pure bliss right now.

Before looking at his own wrist, Tony looks down to Peter’s. He sees a soulmark, and if Tony had to guess, he’d say it looked like a chair. Tony doesn’t even have the time to assess what that means, because to the right of the chair, something new is appearing, and a new wave of warmth emitted from his own wrist tells Tony it’s happening to him, too.

Beside his wrench, and beside Peter’s chair, something new is forming, engraving itself onto the skin. A new shape, a blotch with eight extending lines. A spider, if Tony had to guess-

A _spider_.

Tony’s breath catches in his throat.

He looks down to Peter. Peter is looking right back up to him. On Peter’s wrist, he has the same symbol. The same brand-new symbol.

“A soulmark,” Peter whispers. Tony’s brow furrows. He doesn’t know what to say. “But we both already have one. Ned’s my soulmate-”

“You can have more than one,” Tony says quietly, remembering seeing two marks on Steve Rogers’ wrist, a hand and a hat, flashing in and out of his vision as the shield was slammed into his chest- Tony has to dismiss the memory before the daymares start.

They don’t arise this time.

“But- but we can’t be soulmates,” Peter continues, speaking fast. “We weren’t born with them. You can’t develop soulmates over time, that’s not how it works-”

“Who said?” Tony interrupts, moreso voicing his own racing thoughts than carrying on the conversation. He thinks back to his decision regarding Peter. What if he went the other way, criticized the kid, sent him home crying? Would he have this new mark now, or had he created a new path in his life, blazed a new trail, because of that one decision to keep the kid close?

He takes in Peter’s large, brown eyes, and in that moment he knows what he’s saying to be true. He feels it, sparkles seeming to tinge the warmth coursing through his veins and causing him to shiver.

“What if soulmates aren’t just born?” Tony mutters, running his thumb over the spider. It bears no difference to the wrench. It’s equally real, equally valid. “What if they can be made, too?”

“Are… are you saying we’re soulmates?”

Tony allows himself to look at the spider for one final moment before tugging his cuff over it. He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose with a finger and sniffles before turning back to Peter with a dazzling smile. “I guess so.”

Here’s the plan. He’s going to congratulate the kid on his victory, give him the new suit he made for emergencies but wasn’t planning to reveal until absolutely necessary, and send him home with Tony’s own personal number. Then, he’s going to lock himself in his lab, call Rhodes, and beg him to explain what the _hell_ is going on.

Breakdown time later. Right now, there’s a kid in front of him, and it doesn’t matter if the kid is his soulmate or not. He’s still a kid, and Tony still has an image.

And then, Tony gets something that can only be described as a vision. His head pounds and his eyes fall closed without his consent. He sees Peter in casual clothes, sitting in Tony’s personal quarters in front of the television set. He sees Peter sitting across from him at the breakfast table, working beside him in the lab… hugging him. Peter’s arms are wrapped around Tony’s middle and his head is pressed against Tony’s chest, and it’s quiet, and there are no words, and they’re breathing, and they’re content. The world is silent and for the first time they’re happy, truly happy with each other, as they simply _exist_.

Tony’s eyes fly open. Peter is before him, brow furrowed. Tony’s arms yearn to reach up, to wrap around him, because it feels so real, and it feels so _right_ , Peter in his arms; but not yet.

Not yet.

Tony takes a breath in, forces it back out. He places an arm over Peter’s shoulders.

“I was wrong about you,” he says as he guides Peter forward. He thanks Peter for saving his plane, congratulates him on all his wins, gives him advice for the future, but he feels like he’s speaking through fabric, like there’s a glass over his ears.

He dismisses Peter and sends him home with the new suit. Peter tries to ask a question about the soulmark, but Tony just tells him to keep it quiet. _“The press will have a field day if they find out. You and your aunt will never be left alone.”_ The moment Happy’s out of sight, Tony pulls out his phone. He dials Rhodes’ number, his fingers trembling now that Peter’s a distance away, the spell faded.

Rhodes answers on the second ring, but Tony doesn’t even give him the chance to speak. “I have another soulmate,” Tony says into the speaker, but instead of the dread and worry and fear he expected to feel,

all Tony feels is warm.


	67. Kidnapped/No Powers

Peter likes to listen to his music loud as he walks home from school. It keeps his spirits lifted and his gait quick as he trudges to the tower. He pays attention when crossing the road, but he otherwise keeps his head down, following the crowd.

In the end, it’s the crowd that betrays him.

An arm reaches around Peter’s shoulders and he turns to shove away what must be a pushy salesman when he feels a pressure on his neck and his vision blacks out.

The crowd shoves against him from all sides and Peter’s jostled around as his sight blurs and his knees grow weak. Arms are there to catch him as he falls.

His headphones are fixed in his ears, music blasting as he fights to stay upright, to fend off his attackers.

> _Stop your crying, baby_

> _It’s a sign of the times_

A hand clasps Peter’s upper arm and begins to drag him aside. _Someone, notice this,_ he begs as he tries to fight. His pressure point is hit again, with more force this time, and his body collapses, his eyes rolling back in his head as his backpack is ripped from his shoulders. _Not me. Please, not me._

> _We got to get away_

Car doors open and Peter loses his balance, falling onto what feels like rough carpet as his chest heaves. _No, no-_

> _We got to get away_

Peter’s vision fades in and out and he can see the blue sky above him, walls rising around him, and a person leaning over him. Focus on their face- _focus-_

His vision blurs once more.

> _We got to get away_

Peter lifts a trembling arm, but it’s too late. The trunk slams shut and he’s left in the darkness. _No, no-_

> _We got to-_

Peter yanks the headphones from his ears and they clatter to the carpet as his breathing quickens. The darkness presses against him on all sides, suffocating him. His knees tucked up to his chest don’t help and he can already feel his back aching as he slams his hands against the roof of the trunk.

“Help!” he screams, voice hoarse with panic as he feels the engine of the vehicle roar to life. “Help, please, I’m- I’m in here-”

The conclusion to _Sign of the Times_ blares through the trunk from where Peter’s headphones lay discarded at his feet, and realization dawns on him. _His phone._

Peter reaches desperately for it, sobs crowding the tight space as he curses himself for tossing it aside. His fingers just brush against wire when the vehicle takes a sharp turn and he’s thrown back, head slamming against the taillight.

A ringing grows in his ears, faint at first but growing in intensity the longer it echoes. _The phone,_ Peter thinks through his haze. _Get to the phone._

By some miracle he finds the wire once more and trails his fingers along it, his heart doing a backflip in his chest when he brushes against the phone. _Yes,_ he thinks, tears brimming. _Please-_

The vehicle comes to a stop.

 _No_ , Peter thinks desperately as he presses his finger down on the home button. _No no no-_

“Siri, call Dad’s private number,” Peter says quickly as the car door opens and slams shut, the driver getting out. _Please, no._

The call is placed. Peter’s phone vibrates against the floor of the trunk. Almost-

The hatch pops open, and Peter flinches back as sunlight streams through. _No,_ he sobs inwardly as a shadow blocks the light, a person leering down at him.

The dial tone ends, and Tony’s voice rings out from Peter’s discarded headphones.

“Hey, Pete.”

The sound makes Peter sob.

The barrel of a gun is pressed between Peter’s eyes, keeping him from responding, as his captor reaches down and grabs his phone, unplugging the headphones and holding it up to her ear.

“Hi, Tony,” she says, voice sweet, and Peter forces his eyes open. She’s watching him with something like… _interest._

“Oh, your boy?” she answers to an unheard question. “He’s fine. We’re having a little fun, really. Now, excuse me as I get him all set up and ready. And then, I’ll tell you my demands.” She ends the call and tucks the phone into her pocket before Tony can respond.

_Get him all set up._

Peter doesn’t want to think about what that means.

“Out of the trunk,” she tells him, and Peter forces his weight on shaky arms to push himself up before landing on trembling legs. “Good boy.” She reaches in and grabs his headphones before closing the lid of the trunk, and Peter flinches at the noise. She puts the headphones in one pocket, and… holsters the gun. Peter’s too confused to focus on his surroundings, on the one thing that might’ve gotten him out of this, on the option of escape.

She taps his pressure point one more time, and Peter’s too surprised to move out of the way. This time, he blacks out.

She catches him as he falls, lifting him and carrying him. Peter can’t focus. He lets himself fade.

//

Peter whimpers the moment he opens his eyes, because it’s dark. He sees nothing; it’s pitch black. Something is wrapped around his head, a piece of fabric, and knotted tightly at the back. A blindfold.

“I really am sorry about this,” her voice says from behind him, where his wrists are being pulled and a rope of some sort is wrapping around them, once, twice. His back is pressed against metal, a pole or a pipe or something so thin and trivial that keeps him rooted in place where he sits on the floor with his feet stretched out in front of him.

“You didn’t need to be involved,” the voice says, somewhere in front of him now. He gives his wrists a tug, and his eyes fill with tears when they remain fixed in place.

“Who are you?” he musters the strength to ask, before his face is being touched. He throws his head back and hears a _thud_ as it connects with the pole.

“Careful there,” the woman whispers, before music fills his ears, loud, heavy rock that obliterates his senses. The woman had replaced his headphones.

Peter squirms to move them, to take them out, but the woman grabs his face, fingernails leaving indents in her cheeks. Her message is clear. _Don’t._

Peter waits in the darkness, in the noisy environment that is simultaneously silent and empty. He pulls his knees up to his chest in an attempt to control as much as he possibly can. He doesn’t know where he is, or who she is, or what either of them are doing here. What’s worse, he can’t see or hear any clues, can’t gauge how truly screwed he is.

Peter feels like he’s fading, drifting, in an endless chasm made specifically to house him. He can’t discern anything past the music, through his blindfold, and so he sits and waits - what else can he do?

A hand grabs his chin and Peter jolts to life, trying to pull away, but a second hand wraps around the back of his head, keeping him in place, making him face forward. All at once the headphones are pulled from his ears and the music cuts off abruptly, and Peter’s left in a painfully silent environment.

“Say hi to daddy,” the woman whispers in his ear, and Peter shivers feeling her so close to him.

“Peter?”

_That’s Tony’s voice._

Peter sits up straighter, his jaw falling lax. The woman chuckles in his ear. “That’s right, daddy’s watching. Say hello. Tell him how scared you are. Tell him to come save you.”

“Peter?” Tony says, his voice worried and distorted and somewhere far away. “Talk to me, piccolino. Are you okay?”

“Dad?” Peter tries to say. He’s sure his lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Tell him,” the woman says in his ear. “Tell him to come. He comes, and I’ll let you go.”

“Baby, please,” Tony begs. “Say something.”

And in that moment, Peter decides, he won’t say anything. He won’t do anything this woman wants him to, and he definitely won’t lure his father into a trap.

 _It’s a camera,_ Peter thinks. _She’s turning me to face a camera, and Tony’s on the other end._

Peter sits up straighter, tilting his head to where he believes the camera to be, and he smiles.

“Peter-” Tony says worriedly, but the rest of his sentence goes unheard as Peter’s slapped, hard, across the face.

His cheek stings and his neck hurts from the sudden movement, and Peter lets out an involuntary gasp. He hears his Dad’s voice, his Dad’s screaming, but the headphones are shoved back in rather roughly, and Peter dissolves, once more, into his own secret world.

He lets his body relax, lets his shoulders fall lax. If Tony is watching, Peter doesn’t want him to be worried.

Something presses against his temple, something cold and metal. _A gun._ But Peter hadn’t even heard it be cocked.

He forces himself to remain calm as his heartbeat speeds up. This is all for show. She wouldn’t kill him; he’s her insurance. She’s using him to get to Tony, meaning Tony’s still watching.

Peter refuses to be scared while Tony’s watching.

In a minute the gun pulls away, and Peter’s left alone once more. He takes slow breaths as one song merges into the next, as his muscles begin to cramp and his neck begins to ache. A hand threads into his hair, and Peter can’t help but think of Tony, of being comforted during movie nights, soothed during a nightmare. And then the hand pulls, and all positive thoughts are sharply stolen away as tears spring to his eyes and he bites down, hard, on his lower lip.

 _Tony’s watching,_ he thinks in embarrassment, but he can’t stop the sob that he feels rip its way through his throat.

He hopes Tony’s okay.

The hand disappears and Peter slumps back against the pole, trying to increase blood circulation to his wrists, his hands. Someone will find him - he was taken in broad daylight in the middle of a crowd (albeit carefully), and Tony is the richest man in the world. He has any resource he could ever want at his fingers.

Tony will find him.

Seconds blend to minutes blend to hours, and Peter starts to doubt himself.

How long has he been here? How long will he be _kept_ here until this woman becomes tired of him? Will Tony do what she asked? _Of course he will._ Peter hopes she didn’t ask for anything too large, because Peter knows Tony would give it up in a heartbeat. He’d give it all up for Peter.

A hand touches to Peter’s head and he flinches back. _Not again,_ he begs silently. _Please._

Fingers brush against the back of his neck and he fights to pull away, a whine escaping his lips. _No, no-_

The headphones are pulled from his ears and Peter’s left hearing the scuffle of shoes, shouts echoing through the room. He tries to flinch away, but the noises are coming from everywhere, and he has nowhere to go. Who are they? What are they doing here?

“Peter, it’s me.”

Tony’s voice.

Tony, right in front of him.

Peter’s shoulders sag as he subconsciously leans forward. “Dad?” he whispers hopefully.

“Yeah, baby. I’m here. You’re okay.” Tony’s voice waivers, like he’s holding back tears, as his fingers once more brush against the back of Peter’s head. Peter leans forward as the blindfold falls away, and Tony kneels in front of him, eyes wide and red.

“Dad,” Peter whispers, words stolen from his lips. He lists forward and Tony catches him, running a hand up and down his back as Tony holds the boy close to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Peter cries, trying to push as close to Tony as possible without access to his hands. “Dad, I’m so sorry-”

Tony shushes him quietly. “Why are you apologizing?” he says gently as he presses his lips to Peter’s cheek. “I failed you, Peter. _I’m_ sorry, I let her get you and- and she _hurt_ you, and-” He clutches Peter tighter to him. “Why didn’t you say something?” he whispers, pained. “Peter, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you,” Peter mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t wanna- I’m sorry.” Peter drops his head, a sob breaking through his chest. “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry-”

“You’re safe now, baby,” Tony says gently, squeezing Peter as tight as he possibly can. “Oh, Pete, your wrists,” he sighs, pulling away from Peter as he looks at something behind him. Tony rounds the pole and Peter turns as much as he can, seeing Tony inspect his wrists. He lifts them gently, brushing his fingers across the sensitive skin around the rope before getting to work untying the knot. Peter pulls his hands in front of him the second the rope lands on the ground, watching as police officers rush around him, searching the room and eyeing him as they pass. Tony’s back in front of him before he can think too much about it, pulling Peter forward against his chest, and Peter lets all the others fade from thought as he clutches onto his Dad.

He doesn’t have to be strong anymore.

Then and there, he lets the tears fall.

“I was so scared,” he sobs.

“I know,” Tony soothes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I know.”

“How long was I-”

“Three hours,” Tony answers quickly.

“… oh,” Peter whispers, and Tony’s grip tightens to the point where it physically hurts. Not wanting to know the answer, Peter speaks quietly. “Did she ask for something?” Tony doesn’t respond, and Peter’s heart sinks into his stomach. “Dad.”

“Just money, Pete,” he answers quietly. “I met her, gave her the money, and she fled. And then I called the cops.”

“So she’s still out there.”

Tony lets out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, sinking against Tony’s side. “So, how much am I worth?” he jokes, and Tony laughs. It brings a smile to Peter’s features.

“Three million.”

“I’m worth three million dollars, and you only give me an allowance of ten dollars a month?”

“Because you refuse to accept any more!” Tony shoots back, and Peter giggles in his hold - it’s the truth. Tony holds him for one more moment before pressing a kiss to his cheek and pulling the both of them to their feet. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Tony wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders and Peter fights back a shiver, nervously rubbing a hand against the pressure point on his neck, the one that could take him down in seconds. He keeps his eyes on the ground as they pass one officer after another, as Tony guides them from the building. He has no desire to see this place, and he hopes he never has to again.

Of course, Peter rarely gets what he wants.


	68. Peter suffers an anxiety episode

Peter leans his head against the cool stall door, forcing breaths in and out of his lungs as his eyes squeeze shut. His cell phone vibrates in hand as the call is pushed through, and Peter tries to focus on that instead of the fact that his chest feels tight and his throat feels like it’s constricting, like someone’s shaking a bag of nickels in his mind and ants are crawling beneath his skin.

“ _ Shouldn’t you be at school? _ ” Tony’s voice rings through the phone, a tad too loud and vibrations too deep. Peter swallows thickly, finding it difficult.

“Yeah, uh, funny story,” Peter says with a forced chuckle, his voice too high and trembling with his limbs. “English teacher tried to play therapist, get us all to talk about our anxieties.”

Tony sighs from the other end of the line. “ _ What the hell are my taxes paying them for? _ ”

“Mr. Stark, you have enough money to pay the salaries of every teacher in the country and still buy a couple of private jets.”

“ _ That’s not the point, _ ” Tony mutters, before lowering his tone. “ _ Are you okay? _ ”

Peter lets out a slow exhale. It gets caught half-way through his throat and he has to struggle to force in his next breath. “Uh, not really? I’m in the bathroom, trying not to panic.” He laughs, though there’s nothing funny about the situation. Gotta laugh at yourself or you’ll start to cry, right?

(And now he’s doing both.)

“I’m sorry, May’s working and- and you told me to call you anytime, so, well, you can revoke that offer later but I… I think I need to take you up on it now.” Peter’s self-deprecation leaks into his words. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Stark cut him off after seeing how messed up he is, but right now, Peter just… doesn’t care.

He needs someone.

He needs help.

“ _ Oh, bud, _ ” Tony mutters from the other end of the line. “ _ Do you need me to come pick you up? _ ” Peter can’t answer, embarrassed at calling Tony and fear that he won’t be okay by the time Tony gets here mixing in his mind and he’s left with tears in his eyes and a pressure in his chest. “ _ I’ll be there in ten, alright? Can you wait that long?” _

“Yeah,” Peter says, voice cracking and coming out a pitch too high. “I’m really sorry, I-”

“ _ None of that, _ ” Tony soothes, not unkindly. “ _ Do you want to stay on the phone until I get there? _ ”

“Well- no, it’s okay, I’m fine.”

Tony must’ve heard something in his voice, or Peter hesitated, because Peter hears a faint chuckle from the other end of the line.

“ _ Do you want to hear what I’ve been working on? _ ” he says quietly, and Peter squeaks out a, “Please.”

Peter ignores where he’s standing, ignores his teacher’s words, tries to ignore the thoughts ricocheting around his mind, and he listens to Mr. Stark’s voice.

//

Eight and a half minutes later, Tony finally says those words that make Peter heave a sigh of relief.

“ _ I’m sitting outside. _ ”

Peter hurries to the parking lot as fast as he can, keeping his head down and his steps quick, praying no teacher stops him and no friends try to talk to him. He’d told Ned he was feeling sick before he escaped to the bathroom; he hopes his friend will forgive him for skipping out on him.

Peter finds the black car in the parking lot and slides into the passenger seat, immediately planting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward onto his hands. He knows Tony’s beside him, can feel the man’s eyes on him, but Peter doesn’t meet his gaze. The closed car doors block the wind from outside, but they’re isolating, suffocating, trapping Peter inside. He reaches for the window controls, hands fumbling for the button, and the window opens before he can make contact.  _ Tony’s doing, _ he registers faintly, but he’s too busy leaning his head against the sill and letting the wind cool his damp skin. The pressure in his chest lessens ever slightly, and he knows he wasn’t about to die - logically, Peter knows that, but it’s still a relief to be able to take full breaths.

After a couple moments of just breathing, the car is put in drive and begins to ease out of the parking spot. Peter rubs a hand across his cheeks and is ashamed to find them wet.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice small.

Tony  _ tsk _ s gently. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because… I dunno, it’s stupid. We were just  _ talking _ , and I was the only one to freak out. I should be able to handle this.”

“Who said?”

Peter peers at Tony from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

Tony drums his fingers on the steering wheel, looking back at him every so often. “Who told you that you should be able to handle this?”

“Well, maybe if I was a less fucked-up human being-”

“Hey.”

Peter rolls his eyes half-heartedly. “Sorry, a less  _ broken  _ person-”

“That’s not any better,” Tony says, his voice low as he stops the car at a red light and turns in his chair. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Pete.”

“Well, there kind of is-”

“No, there’s not.”

“Everyone says that!” Peter exclaims, sitting up sharply. “Everyone says that there’s nothing wrong, and they’re trying to make me feel better, but they don’t understand. There’s something royally screwed up in my brain, there  _ is. _ There must be, because otherwise I’m normal and it doesn’t get any better than this, and… and I don’t think I can live like that _. _ ”

Tony lets out a slow exhale, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I just meant that I don’t want you feeling like you’re broken.”

“I know there’s something wrong with me, I know it, and if there’s something wrong but people say there  _ isn’t  _ then- then they’re just erasing it, and ignoring it, and….” Peter groans, collapsing in his chair. “I hate this.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Pete. I really am, but you can’t go around thinking like that. If you live life with the mindset that you’re broken, and that everyone else is better than you and has a leg up, you’re going to be suffering.”

“I  _ am. _ ”

“I just meant…. You’ve gotta redefine your thinking.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I never said it is!” Tony’s voice rises, and he stops, taking a deep breath before lowering his tone. “Look, I get it. This sucks, okay? I may not fully understand, but the feeling of being uncomfortable in your skin…..” Tony takes a slow breath. “You can’t go around hating yourself all your life, or you’ll shut down all avenues for healing before they even reach you. And I know it sounds like I’m just saying things, but instead of saying that you’re broken, say you’re going to get better. Instead of believing that there’s something wrong with you, you just handle stress in a different way, and that’s all there is to it. How does that sound?”

Peter frowns in discomfort, looking out the window as trees pass by.

“You’ve grown so used to hating yourself, you don’t know how to feel comfortable in your skin,” Tony observes.

Peter scratches at his neck. “Is it possible to actually feel  _ happy, _ or is everyone at least a little bit fucked up?”

Tony gives a rueful smile, not even bothering to correct the curse. “If you’re searching for perfect happiness in all aspects of your life, you’re not going to find it. I’m sorry, buddy, it just doesn’t work - but that doesn’t mean you should stop trying.”

“But what’s the point in trying if it’s never going to yield anything?”

“I didn’t say that, either.” Tony turns into a sideroad and brings the car to a stop, turning in his chair. Peter drops his eyes uncomfortably to his lap. “You’ve got to look for the little moments. Levelling up on that video game you play with Ted, or if they make anymore Star Wars movies-”

Peter scoffs, and Tony gives a breathless chuckle.

“You’ve just got to keep fighting,” Tony says after a moment.

Peter shakes his head with a sniffle. “It sucks.”

“I know,” Tony sighs, putting the car into drive once more. “But we’ll get through it. Together, alright? Just keep fighting.”


	69. Bio!dad Tony is protective of Peter when Bucky's around

Tony tried to keep Peter away from Avengers business for as long as possible. Peter knew Tony was Iron Man, of course; everyone did. He had dinners with the Falcon and spent weekends with Black Widow. They taught him how to throw a punch and, after weeks of insisting, Tony finally allowed Natasha to show Peter how to use a pistol; but Tony doesn’t let Peter anywhere near the fight, doesn’t involve him in any activity. He plays it down, really; a business trip here, an international meeting there. Peter, Tony hopes, is none the wiser about the full scope about what it is his father truly does.

And then, the Winter Soldier comes to town.

He’s a ghost story, and a pretty popular one, at that; Natasha brought home mission reports about him sometimes. Of course, Tony was concerned, but he didn’t think it was anything that warranted the entirety of the Avengers’ attention. And then, Steve Rogers, mister all-that’s-right-and-good Captain America, announces that he, in fact, knows the soldier.

Steve and Sam hunted down the organization that held him, unbeknownst to Tony, and broke him out. And  _ now,  _ they plan on bringing him back to the tower. There’s no question as to why Tony’s uneasy to have a man credited with assassinations backing 20 years living in the same building as his son, but he can’t exactly turn the guy away. He would be outvoted in a team meeting anyway.

And so, he welcomes the Winter Soldier into his home.

A cordial handshake, a brief tour, and he leaves the soldier to his own devices.

//

“Hey, Pete?” Peter looks up from his desk with a hum of acknowledgement. “How’s your friend Ted doing?”

“Stop pretending like you don’t know his name. It’s been eight years.”

“Well, you haven’t seen him in a while. You can’t blame me if I forget.” Peter scoffs as Tony steps into his room, settling onto the bed. “Hey, why don’t you go for a sleepover or something?”

Peter absentmindedly flips over a page in his textbook. “Trying to get rid of me?”

_ Desperately, before you realize he’s here. Before you find each other. _ “Not at all, I just think it would be nice for you to get out once in a while.”

“Um, I go to school every day.”

“You know what I mean.”

Peter chuckles. “Most parents would be glad to have their kids as  _ respectable _ as I am, staying home and all that.”

“Well, not me. You’re a big pain in my side, and I need you out.”

Peter looks over his shoulder, sticking out his tongue. “Fine. I’ll see if he’s free tonight.”

Good.

//

Tony’s settled at the kitchen table for a team dinner on Saturday night, the soldier directly across from him, keeping his head down. Tony can’t keep his eyes off the man, his frame so physically large, his eyes downright dangerous if the light catches them wrong, and yet, his expression one of sorrow. He picks at his plate, his fork eerily silent as it slides against the platter. He’s learned not to make a sound. Tony has yet to even hear his voice.

The elevator doors slide open, and Tony lurches to his feet the moment he gets a glance of the big, brown eyes on the other side.

“Didn’t expect you home for another couple of days,” Tony says quickly, his voice a pitch too high as he scrambles around the table, his heart in his throat. The soldier is closer to Peter than he is. Tony won’t be able to do anything if he decides to make a move. Eight more steps, six….

Peter eyes Tony weirdly. “The Leeds had plans, so I left early.”

Tony steps past the soldier’s chair and releases a sigh, something in his chest lessening. The thought of the soldier at his back makes him shiver, but at least he can’t get to Peter. He’ll have to go through Tony first.

“Well, I’m actually glad you’re back. I need your help down in the lab.”

“Can I eat something first?”

“You can grab something later,” Tony says quickly, feeling the eyes of the team on his back as he sets himself between the soldier and his son. “Come on, it’ll be quick.”

Peter’s brow furrows as he shuffles past Tony, and somewhere in the back of his mind Tony begins formulating a lie to keep Peter from getting too suspicious. Mainly, though, the pressure in his chest releases, bit by bit, with every step Peter takes out of the kitchen, away from the soldier.

Safe for a little while longer.

Tony thinks he hears something from behind him, a sniff or a sigh or a small exhale of breath. It takes no precedence in his mind as he follows Peter out of the kitchen, leaving that room of horrors behind.

//

Normally, voices coming from the kitchen around lunch time wouldn’t alarm Tony. Hearing Peter’s voice doesn’t set off any warnings; Peter’s very vocal around the team. They’re like family.

What puts Tony on edge is hearing a voice that he’s never heard before, conversing with his son.

There’s only one person that can be.

Tony drops his project, blueprints and scrolls fluttering to the floor as he hurries to the kitchen, trying not to run, but hurrying all the same. There’s Peter, leaning against the island - and there, beside the coffee machine….

“Peter!” Tony snaps, and the boy’s head shoots up eyes concerned. “What are you….”

The soldier turns, his eyes wide, like he’s been caught doing something he knows he’s not supposed to. Tony barely spares him a glance as he steps to Peter’s side.

“I didn’t know Mr. Barnes was here,” Peter says, eyes bright and words unaccusing, tone filled with levity. It makes Tony’s stomach churn.  _ Peter doesn’t know the dangers. _

“Just Bucky, kid,” Tony hears the soldier say, his voice rough with disuse.

“Not your kid,” Tony snaps, and the soldier seems to shrink into himself, eyes fluttering to the ground.

Tony opens his mouth to continue, but Peter’s still going as if Tony hadn’t said anything. “He was just telling me about the roaring ‘20s - to have a live eye witness, it’s so cool-”

The soldier offers a faint smile, but Tony forces his way between Peter and the island, and Peter’s forced to take a step back.

“What?” Peter demands. The soldier stills in the corner of Tony’s eye.

“Have you done your homework?”

Peter just stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Is it done?”

Peter’s mouth falls open and he gesticulates wildly, at a loss for words. “I’m talking with a member of the team.”

“He’s not a-” Tony stops himself, quieting his voice. “There are some things you don’t know, kid. Just go do your work.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says, voice growing strained.

“No, I want you to tell me.”

“Peter-”

“What don’t I know?”

“You want to know?” Tony yells, stepping aside. “Fine, I’ll tell you.” He throws his hand out behind him, gesturing to the man who stands by the coffee machine, eyes down. “ _ That’s  _ the Winter Soldier. You ever heard of him?”

Tony knows full well Peter has.

For a moment Peter’s silent, eyes flitting between the two men. “From Natasha’s stories?” he says quietly. The soldier seems to flinch as Tony nods.

“One and the same.”

Peter lets out a slow breath as he looks to the soldier. “... Alright,” he says after a minute. “Wow, I’m… I’m so sorry, Mr. Barnes.”

Tony’s hand drops to his side as the soldier lifts his gaze. “What?” he croaks.

“I heard about the… the brainwashing, and everything, and I just… that sucks. I’m really sorry about everything you went through.”

Tony finds the soldier’s eyes, and for the first time since Bucky’s arrived they seem to know each other, to acknowledge each other.

Bucky’s hand flies to the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks, kid,” he murmurs, looking up at Tony as if to ask,  _ Is this okay? _

Tony bows his head in a sort of half-nod as he takes a step back. He’s not leaving, he wouldn’t even consider it, but now Peter’s asking about the depression, and Tony realizes…

Well, maybe he was wrong.


	70. Genius & Sassy! Peter

Tony rolls his shoulders back as he regards the school building before him,  _ Midtown School of Science and Technology  _ displayed proudly above white columns (a bit pretentious, if you ask Tony - and he should know).

Tony really doesn’t know why this is necessary - why, after four calls sent to voicemail on four different occasions, he’s finally given in and made an appointment to meet with the principal of Peter’s school. Peter’s a smart kid, Tony’s positive; he’s working on the Iron Man suits and even has a prototype of his own sitting on his desk down in the lab, so Tony has no clue as to why Principal Morita wants to speak with him regarding his son’s “academic performance”. Really, it’s all a load of hooey.

And yet, Tony finds himself before the colonnades.

_ Well, let’s get this over with. _

Tony strolls into the school, ignoring the gaping mouths of students that run to their classroom windows to get a better look at him, and lets the signs lead him to admin. When he enters, the secretary closest to him doesn’t even look up, while the one at the end of the long row of desks can’t seem to pull his eyes away.

“Yes?” the secretary nearest demands, and Tony gives a breathless chuckle at her attitude.

“Stark. I have an appointment with Principal Mor-”

“Have a seat.”

Tony hovers at the desk for a moment longer before mentally brushing himself off and sitting in one of the chairs lining the office, giving Eyes at the far end of the desk a smile. (The poor guy looks like he’s about to faint.)

After, frankly, far too long of Tony answering emails on his phone while being stared at from all sides (except for from Ms. Macdonald, apparently), Principal Morita steps from the back room and calls Tony over.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Stark,” Morita says as Tony steps into the office. Tony waves him off as he makes himself comfortable in one of the chairs across the desk.

“Why am I here?”

“Ah, yes.” Morita drums his fingers on the table. “Are you aware of Peter’s performance in his classes?”

Tony shrugs nonchalantly. “He shows me every mark he receives. Straight As.”

“And do you know how he spends his school days?”

“I thought that was your responsibility.”

“Mr. Stark, please try to take this seriously.”

“Then stop playing mind games with me and just tell me why I’m here.”

“On multiple occasions, Peter has been caught falling asleep at his desk,” Morita snaps.

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “So? Teenagers get tired. If you’d like I can adjust his bedtime.” Morita raises an eyebrow, and Tony lifts his hands in mock defense.

“He doesn’t pay attention to his teachers, and is often seen reading books under his desk that don’t pertain to the lessons at hand.”

“So it’s a crime to read, now?”

Morita takes a visible breath. “Do you have any idea why he’s taking a lack of interest in his studies?”

Tony shrugs, raising a brow. “How would I know? You should call and ask him. It’ll probably be the most exciting thing to happen to him all day,” Tony adds under his breath. Mr. Morita sighs heartedly as he reaches for the loudspeaker and Tony hears his voice echo through the halls of the school.

Peter steps into the office after four minutes of tense silence, and Tony greets him with a grin - if the red eyes and the lines on Peter’s left cheek are any indication, Peter’s  _ definitely  _ been sleeping at his desk.

“Hiya, Pete.”

Peter blinks, as if confirming it’s actually Tony before him, and not an exhaustion-induced hallucination.

“Uh, hey, Dad.”

Tony stands, letting Peter take his seat as he himself leans on the backrest.

“So,” Tony says, his eyes set on Morita’s, who shuffles in his chair uncomfortably. “I hear you’ve been falling asleep in class.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I mean, I already know all the information and it’s not affecting my grades, so-”

Morita leans forward. “That’s no excuse to be neglecting your classes while your peers are working hard-”

Tony lifts a hand, and Morita falls silent. Peter snorts, and the principal flushes red.

“Have you read anything cool lately?”

“I just finished learning about the Andromeda galaxy. I’m about half way through the seven years war.”

“Neither of those topics are in the grade 10 curriculum-”

“Will you allow me to speak with my son, please?” Tony interrupts. Morita pinches his lips together as a vein becomes prominent on his forehead.

“How are your marks this year?” Tony asks. Peter tilts his head back in order to meet his father’s eyes.

“Eighties, nineties.”

“But you get perfect on all your tests.”

Peter smirks. “I lose marks for participation.”

“And why don’t you participate?” Tony’s tone isn’t accusatory, simply curious, and Peter answers in turn.

“It’s boring.”

Tony chuckles, patting Peter once on the shoulder. He lifts his eyes to Morita, who looks downright furious.

“Will you be changing your curriculum anytime soon?” Tony asks.

Morita looks appalled. “Why on-  _ no.” _

Tony turns his eyes to his son. “Do you have anything keeping you at this school?”

Peter fiddles with a string on his jeans. “Not a thing.”

Tony nods once. “We’re transferring.”

Morita’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. “ _ What? _ ”

Tony reaches across the desk, grabbing a pen and notepad set beside the phone and placing them in front of Morita. “Please write down any advanced schools you know of in the area.”

“I-  _ we  _ are the most advanced school in the area!”

“Oh.” Tony frowns. “Shame. Uh... oh, I have an idea.” He turns to his son. “Hey, Pete, how’d you like to be homeschooled?”

Peter frowns. “What will I learn?”

“After we cover the curriculum in a week? Anything you want.”

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face. “Cool.”

“Right?” Tony pats Peter on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark!” Morita shouts after them, and both Tony and Peter turn. “You can’t just do this!”

Tony grins. “Watch me.” He guides Peter from the room, hearing Morita sigh from behind him. “So, we’ll grab your things from your locker, and then- you’ve learned about Andromeda, but what about Hoag’s Object?”

  
  



	71. Skip Westcott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions/descriptions of sexual assault, nightmares, swearing

Peter can feel hands on him, like ants beneath his skin in a million places at once. They’re on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair, tightening their grip with every passing moment, increasing in intensity, reaching for places they shouldn’t be. Peter aches to move but he can’t pull away, made frozen by blue eyes that welcome him into a trap, a grin that’s just on the edge of insanity.  _ Stop, _ Peter wants to say.  _ Help, _ he tries to scream, but it’s inaudible, twisting and fighting to get away while his body is transformed into a prison-

Peter shoves the hands away as he scrambles back, breaths growing panicked as he fights with the ropes around himself, but his legs are tangled up and his hands are pressed tight to his side-

“Hey, you’ve gotta breathe, Pete,” a voice begs, a voice that  _ seems _ good, but... but the hands, Peter felt them-

“You’re in the tower. You’re in your bed. It’s- about 9:30 in the morning.” Peter lets the voice filter in, lets it wash over him. The hands are gone, the only thing touching him being the sheets wrapped tight around his torso. Slowly, his eyes squeezed shut, Peter eases his arms out and tugs the sheets up to his chin, that which he had been trying to escape just moments ago now becoming his sanctuary.

“You with me?” Tony asks. Peter turns his head, burying his face in his pillow as he thinks about how fucking  _ stupid _ he’d been, but also, how scared.

Fingers brush against Peter’s scalp. He knows it’s Tony trying to calm him down; logically, he knows that, but- “Please don’t touch me right now,” he chokes out. Tony’s hand retracts instantly, and Peter can feel the man’s eyes on him, but for now he tries to shut it out.

He’s in the tower. He’s with the strongest, most powerful man in the world.

He’s  _ safe. _

And still, he feels so dirty, and broken.

And terrified.

“He went to jail, he- I know he did-” Peter shakes his head. The pillow under his head is wet. “He’s out now, though. But I’m  _ Spider-Man, _ and still-”

Peter angrily rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes as he sits up. He sees Tony sitting on the edge of his mattress, his eyes wide. “Sorry,” Peter mumbles, and tries to push past Tony. Tony holds a hand up - a barrier, not a physical restraint.

“What’s up?” Tony asks softly. Peter bites his lip as he turns his head, his eyes focusing somewhere outside of his room. He’s too shaken now to attempt to rebuild the walls that had fallen in his sleep, and-  _ gosh, _ he wants to trust someone.

“When I was, uh, nine, I had a babysitter, and he, uh-” Peter can’t speak and he drops his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “He showed me this magazine and- and he- and he made  _ me-” _

Peter drops his head into his hands. The bedsheets had fallen to his waist and he gets the urge to pick them back up, to hold them to his chin, to hide from the world, especially as seconds pass and Tony says nothing.

He’s weak. He  _ let  _ this happen to him, and now Tony’s going to take his suit and- and turn him away, and-

“You said he went to jail?” Tony asks, his voice rough and barely controlled. It makes Peter wince as he nods.

“But he’s out now.” Just the thought makes Peter want to curl up and hide.

Tony pinches his lips together, glaring down at where his fist rests on his knee. “Fri, call my lawyer. Tell him I’ll pay triple if he can meet me in an hour.”

“You got it, boss.”

Somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind he registers what Tony had said, but now there’s a heat growing behind his eyes, and the embarrassment of tears just makes him want to cry more.

“Look, Pete, whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I was stronger, or- maybe I was... giving  _ signals, _ or-”

“As a nine year old?” Peter drops his gaze. “That man- what’s his name?”

“S-Skip.”

Tony nods. “He’s a fucking pedophile.” Peter’s breath catches in his throat. “That’s what he is, and it had nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong, and there’s nothing you could’ve done to-” Tony exhales a long breath, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re the strongest kid I know.”

Peter lifts his gaze. Tony watches him with such intensity, and Peter feels undeserving.

Tony’s expression softens, and he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says softly, and Peter can’t hold himself upright anymore.

He falls forward, and, of course, Tony catches him.


	72. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW physical, domestic abuse

If Tony hears the words  _ I’m fine _ leave the kid’s mouth one more time, he thinks he may punch a wall. Because though Peter said he’s fine, though he’s insisted it for the last hour, the unnatural part of his hair leaving strands falling over his forehead say something different. The bruises that are revealed when Peter forgets his makeshift shield and brushes his hair out of the way distract Tony from the next Stark Phone release and the upcoming gala. This is all that matters.

Tony watches Peter across the desk, notes the two untouched glasses of water that sit perched on the edge, the way he moves his pencil across the pages of his notebooks that looks like it pains him to do so.

No matter what Peter says, he is  _ not  _ fine.

“I hope you got a few good punches in,” Tony muses. Peter lowers his chin, and Tony’s left staring at the top of his head.

“I told you, Mr. Stark, it wasn’t a fight. I fell. Hit my head on a doorknob.”

“I knew you were clumsy, Pete. I didn’t know you were that bad.”

“I know, right?” Peter murmurs, his voice low and oddly sincere. Tony’s brow furrows as he gnaws on his lower lip. Finally he sighs, standing from his chair and moving to lean against Peter’s desk. Peter drops his head lower, but Tony doesn’t shift his gaze.

“Pete.”

Peter scrawls something in his notebook, his knuckles growing white. “Hm?”

“Look at me.”

The pencil falls still as Peter takes a breath, shoulders rising and falling. After a moment he places the utensil down and turns his chin up. Tony fights to keep his eyes on Peter’s face instead of the swollen, fresh-looking bruise.

The longer Tony holds his gaze, the more nervous Peter looks. First, his knee begins to bounce. And then, his fingers drum on the table. When he chews on the inside of his cheek, a habit he only does when he’s  _ really  _ nervous, Tony knows something is wrong.

“Who did this to you?” Tony asks quietly. Peter’s eyes widen minimally, an attempt to hide the reaction.

“I fell,” he mutters.

“Look, I care about you, and you’re  _ hurt. _ You need to tell me what happened. Are you in danger? Is it someone at school?”

“I already told you what happened.”

“I know you’re lying.”

“Mr. Stark-” Peter tries to turn away, and Tony can’t stand the thought of Peter being injured, of him feeling the need to  _ lie  _ about it, of having one job - to protect the kid - and failing at it, and he snaps.

“ _ Parker! _ ”

He slams his hand down on the desk.

Peter flinches back, shoulders high and eyes squeezed shut tight.

A cold fist clutches around Tony’s heart and  _ squeezes, _ and  _ now,  _ he knows he’s failed.

Tony can’t speak. His chest feels tight and he’s having difficulty breathing as he watches Peter take a shaky breath and slowly straighten out his shoulders, wiping away a tear. And then, he picks up his pencil and resumes writing like nothing had happened.

Tony forces a breath in and out of his lungs. “Peter-”

“It’s John,” Peter says. “He, uh, he gets upset sometimes- you know, when May’s not around. He doesn’t  _ mean _ to- he never actually does anything, you know, I just... I dropped the glass, and he... I shouldn’t have dropped it. I’m clumsy, right?” Peter gives a weak chuckle as he etches something into the page. Tony is horrified. “This’ll heal, tomorrow, maybe. And May will never know, and- oh, note, when I’m nervous my powers are really hit-or-miss. I’ll either stick too much or not at all-”

“He  _ hit  _ you?” Tony fights to keep his voice level.

Peter’s knuckles whiten around the pencil. “Well, y’know, it was the top-shelf liquor he asked me to get, and I’d be mad, too, if it ended up all over the floor, and-”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice is stern, and Peter struggles to meet his eyes. Tony lowers himself to Peter’s level in the chair and meets his eyes. “Did John hit you?”

Peter swallows thickly. His gaze flits between Tony’s eyes.

He nods.

Tony lets out a slow breath as he stands, nodding. “Alright,” he mutters. “C’mon. Let’s get you fixed up.”

“Wha- this will heal by tomorrow.”

“Humor me.”

//

Tony managed to find a bruise cream in the lab’s first aid kit and applied it as gently as possible, despite Peter’s argument that he was fine -  _ I swear, kid, if I hear you say that one more time _ \- and now Peter is slouched against the countertop, looking defeated, as Tony has his hands placed on the edge of the sink and looks down at the white marble.

“How long has it been going on for?” Tony asks quietly.

Peter shrugs. “Two months, maybe? I dunno, it was fine. Until now I could hide it, so-”

“Just because you can hide it doesn’t mean it’s fine.” Peter falls silent. “Does May know?”

“She knows he gets mad sometimes. I mean, everyone does, right?”

“This isn’t just  _ getting mad, _ Peter,” Tony says quietly. “This is abuse.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter says quickly. “He’s fine with May, and- I don’t even think he meant to hit me, it just- he was upset, right? And it’s hard for some people to control themselves when they’re upset, so in a way it wasn’t even  _ him  _ that hit me, and-”

Tony rests a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and his flustered rambling stops. His wide eyes rise to meet Tony’s.

“Oh, Pete,” Tony whispers, and maybe it’s his tone, or the physical touch, or maybe Tony’s repeated attempts finally broke down Peter’s walls. Whatever the reason, a tear traces its way down Peter’s cheek, followed by another. His eyes remain open wide.

“I know,” Tony sighs, pulling Peter closer to him. “I know, kid. I’m so sorry.” He rests his chin atop Peter’s head and wraps his arms around the kid, and slowly, Peter lifts his arms around Tony’s back. He leans his head onto Tony’s shoulder, and his shoulders begin to quiver.

Tony holds him, and they don’t move for a long, long time.

  
  



	73. Christmas Dinner

“Hey, J,” Tony shouts to be heard over the music as he has his head buried beneath the hood of a car. “Order me a new set of spark plugs from that garage at the end of the road.”

“George’s Garage is closed today, Sir.”

Tony grunts as he gets a particularly nasty shock, pulling his hand back and shaking it in an attempt to remove the sting. “Fine, then try the place in the city with that employee with the pink hair.”

“Auto Source is closed as well.”

Tony lifts his head from the car, planting his hands on either side of the vehicle. “What the hell is going on?”

“Well,” Jarvis says with a twinge of humour in his otherwise monotonous voice, “I believe today is Christmas, Sir.”

Tony frowns up at the ceiling. “Are you sure?”

“Unless today is not December 25th.”

“Sass,” Tony mutters under his breath. “Christmas already, huh? How intriguing.” He sticks his head back into the car. “Alright, well, place an order the day they open again.”

Jarvis’ voice sounds almost sad when he speaks again. “Do you have plans for this holiday, Sir?”

Tony yanks out a wire a bit harsher than necessary. “Sure do. Meeting with a fella named Jack Daniels.” Tony sets his tools down with a dejected sigh. “He lives in that cabinet right there.”

“If you call Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to-”

“He’s down in Philadelphia with his family.” Tony wonders why his mouth suddenly tastes sour.

“And what about Mr. Hogan?”

“Happy’s got cousins.”

“If you contacted Mr. Rogers-”

“Drop it, would you, Jarvis?” Tony exclaims as he glares at the ceiling, which glows a faint blue. Jarvis is watching, listening, hanging around. Is that all Tony has this Christmas? A blue light, a disembodied voice, a couple of damaged robots?

_ It’s all he’s ever had. _

No one even thought to call.

Tony returns to his project, working more vigorously than before. If this is all he has, a couple of tools and broken pieces, he wants to do a good job of it. He requests the music be turned up louder before setting to work, cutting his arms in a few places as he leans so far into the vehicle. He doesn’t care; he has to get this done. He has to succeed. If this is all he has, if this is the  _ only  _ thing he has-

“Sir-”

“What?” Tony shouts as he looks up at the ceiling - but the ceiling is no longer blue, it’s red.

It’s a call.

“Mr. Stark?”

_ Shit,  _ Tony thinks, panicked. The kid hadn’t heard him shout, right?

“Oh, hey, Pete,” Tony says as calmly as he can muster, scraping up his hands as he hurriedly withdraws them from the hood and reaches for a cloth. “What’s up?”

“Well, I-I just wanted to say Merry Christmas.”

Tony smiles faintly as he stares at the floor, imagining Peter’s face - where he stands in the kitchen, twirling the cord of the landline around his fingers, that crease that appears between his eyebrows whenever he gets anxious.

“And to you.”

“Yeah, thanks. So I was wondering- well, me and May, actually, were wondering if- but only if you don’t have anything to do. I wouldn’t want to bother you if you were doing something, because I know you’re very busy, and, uh- important, and-”

“Hey, Pete?”

The rambling stops. “Yeah?”

“Rip the Band-Aid off, bud.”

There’s a faint chuckle from the other end of the line. It makes Tony smile.

Peter takes a deep inhale and says, all in a single breath, “d’youwannacomeoverfordinner”

Tony blinks, taken aback. “What?”

“Well, not if you’re busy! I mean- you probably are, I’m sorry. I’m just gonna-”

“No, no, no, don’t go,” Tony says suddenly, waving his hands out in front of him, as if Peter could see them. “I just couldn’t hear what you said. Run that by me again.”

There’s a pause before Peter repeats it. “I was just... if you wanna, y’know, come over. And have dinner. With us.”

Tony stares up at the red on the ceiling, eyes blown wide. He’s... been invited. The kid wants him there?

He’ll have someone to spend the holiday with?

“If you don’t want to, that’s totally okay!” Peter continues quickly, and Tony can visualize the vibrant shade of red of his cheeks. “I just thought I’d ask, but-”

“I’d love to,” Tony says, and finds himself smiling.

//

“Code red, Jarvis,” Tony calls the second he hangs up with a bashful, stuttering Peter. “I need an outfit.”

“You have plenty of suits. Did you forget where your closet is?”

“This isn’t just some red carpet,” Tony mutters as he wipes his hands clean as best he can and tosses the rag somewhere behind him, “and it’s  _ definitely  _ not the time for jokes.”

If Jarvis hadn’t thought to turn off the music, it would’ve followed Tony up to his room and would’ve probably continued playing long after he walked out the front door. He mentally sorts through his wardrobe as he makes his way up to his room, but he can’t for the life of him find anything good.

“These are important people, J. It needs to be perfect.”

Jarvis manages to sound shocked. “Sir, are you saying you  _ care?” _

“Ah, shut up and help me pick a tie.”

“Well, how are you planning to-”

“Red,” Tony interrupts, having finally reached his closet. “Red is Christmas-y, right? And- not to mention it’s  _ me _ -y, so, works on two fronts.” Jarvis is silent. “Hey, I need some support over here.”

“ _ You  _ created me. If you are confused, how can you expect  _ me  _ to help?”

“Completely useless,” Tony mutters as he fishes through his closet. “Should’ve spent more time fixing Dum-E. He’d probably be  _ so _ much more helpful right now.”

“If you requested he tear up your shirts, then definitely.”

“Not a suit jacket, right?” Tony mutters hurriedly. “What if I’m too dressed up? What if I’m not dressed up  _ enough? _ Geez, why did I ever want to be invited to these things?”

“Sir, might I suggest you take a breath?”

Startled, Tony finds himself sitting in a pile of clothes, his hair unruly and falling into his eyes from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it. He looks around in despair. He’s been invited to the Christmas dinner of a kid who idolizes him and an adult who holds him in too high regard. In all he’s done in his stupid, stupid life,  _ this  _ may just be the most important moment.

“You’ve got to help me, J,” Tony begs, and maybe he’s being dramatic, but Jarvis is the only one Tony has, the only one who’s constantly stuck around after everyone left.

And right now, Tony really needs someone.

“Try the button-down to your right,” Jarvis suggests. Tony turns to grab it, and so, it begins.

//

An hour, a tube of hair gel, and a bouquet and bottle of wine later, Tony stands in the hallway of the Parker apartment, their front door looming over him.

Tony swallows thickly. His collar is too tight.

Why is he so nervous? He’s fought monsters and aliens and his own team before, and yet this, this thought of facing his young protégé, the kid who - as much as Tony hesitates to admit it - is in his own care, is under his own  _ protection, _ terrifies him more than any of that.

He can’t do this. This is too big of a step. Before, it was just suit repairs, superhero-ing tips. That was instructions and lists and machinery; that was easy. This is  _ different.  _ This is taking a large step into the kid’s life. This is Tony telling Peter,  _ I’m here. You can trust me to show up when you call. _

Can he, though?

If Tony is really as worthy of respect as Peter believes him to be, why has everyone else in his life left?

“Is someone out there?” May calls from within. Tony allows his heart four full seconds to race until he feels it may explode; and then, he knocks on the door.

It swings open a moment later - May must’ve been preparing to open it to check anyway, and she stands on the other side, obnoxiously large Christmas lights dangling from her ears and a glittering Santa hat on her head.

“Tony!” she greets, and Tony manages to school his expression into a slanted grin, straightened shoulders and a steady frame; confident. Strong. Who he’s expected to be. Who the kid thinks he is. Who he  _ needs  _ to be, for Peter.

“Ms. Parker.” Tony offers her the bouquet. “You look lovely.”

May raises a suspicious brow as she takes them from him and moves to fill a vase. “Thank you,” she says, despite her expression. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

As May steps out of the way, Tony gets a clear view of the boy who stands behind her, Peter pulling uncomfortably at his collar with his hair full of too much gel; all it does is harden his untamable curls. When he catches Tony watching him, he forces his hands down to his sides and gives a crooked smile.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.”

Tony grins back. “Hey, Pete.”

“Thanks for, uh, you know.” He shrugs, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he averts his gaze. “For coming.”

“My pleasure.”

May ushers Tony inside, and Tony wonders if this relationship may not be so bad after all. He wonders if it might even be a good thing.


	74. Broom closet

Tony thinks things are getting a little bit odd with his intern lately. Two Fridays ago was tense. The last Friday was silent, and odd. Today is probably one of the worst.

When Peter walks into the lab, he keeps his head down. The backpack around his shoulders seems to be forcing him into the ground as he hunches to bear the weight of it. He slumps at his desk when he finally reaches it, sinking into his chair with a defeated sigh. Tony waits, giving Peter a moment, before calling over in greeting. “Hey, Pete.”

Peter lifts his head, and all Tony can do is blink in surprise. Peter looks decidedly  _ not  _ like Peter. His skin is pale and sunken, and that around his eyes is dark. Still, Peter manages to smile, a sad thing. Peter breaks the connection first and looks away, and Tony’s left frowning as his intern sets to work, withdrawing notebooks and fumbling with his pencil.

“Everything alright?”

“All good,” Peter answers, the corners of his lips still upturned slightly. Tony just nods and looks away -- he has a laundry list of things to get done today, anyway. Maybe it’s just teenager things. If, by the end of today, Peter’s still not okay, then Tony will step in. But for now, he seems to be getting into the groove of things, so Tony will let him be.

And, for a little bit, Tony gets to pretend.

He falls into his own rhythm, getting lost between bits of metal and his program, so when Peter clears his throat, Tony misses it. He wished he had paid more attention.

“Um, Mr. Stark?” Peter says quietly. Tony lifts his head, as if snapped from a trance, and Peter looks at Tony’s chin as he speaks.

“Would it be okay if I went up to the kitchen?”

Tony blinks, leaning back in his chair slightly. “Well, yeah, of course. Go on up.”

Peter grins, relieved, and Tony watches him go. Peter’s always had free reign over anything that was Tony’s, and he knows this. But even stranger, Peter’s never taken advantage of it, never even requested anything extra. Tony would be glad that he’s finally getting comfortable, but he doubts that’s the reason.

Peter’s only gone for a couple of minutes, and when he returns, Tony’s sure to make it appear as though he’s busy. He still notices the hand Peter keeps behind his back, and how he quickly shoots it into his bag, seeming to deposit something inside. Tony catches a flash of silver wrappers, granola bars.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbles as he sits down, so quiet, as if Tony’s not supposed to hear it.

Tony waves him off. “Anytime kid, you know that.” Peter nods, keeping his head low. Tony finds it a bit harder to find his rhythm this time.

6 o’clock hits before Tony’s ready for it to, and he waits with bated breath for the sound of zippers and pencils piling away; Peter’s very cautious about overstaying his welcome. The sound never comes -- which is odd, because Peter is evidently watching the clock. He looks almost…  _ scared. _

Tony watches him for a full minute, going unnoticed, before he clears his throat. “You waiting for something?” Peter’s eyes blow wide and he scrambles to pick up his bag, filling his arms with fallen books.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the time, I--”

“No, no, wait.” Tony waves his arms out in front of him. “That’s not what I meant.” He rises to his feet, and Peter stills.

Tony rounds the desks, feeling like the big bad as he approaches Peter, who has his eyes down and looks one shiver away from trembling. Tony approaches until he’s close enough to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Is everything alright?” he asks quietly.

Peter’s quick to nod. “Yeah, it’s all-all great.”

Peter must sense the disbelief in Tony’s gaze, because he steps back, and Tony lets his hand fall. “I’ll see you next week, Mr. Stark.”

Tony tries to think of something,  _ anything  _ to say that would keep Peter from leaving those doors (Tony fears the boy he’ll meetnext week), but in his haste he finds it nearly impossible to form words, and with defeat he allows the door to fall closed behind Peter’s retreating back.

⬢ ⬢ ⬢

If Peter needs help, he’ll say something, right?

This is the thought that keeps Tony’s guilt at bay. He’s not failing Peter, he’s simply giving the boy his freedom. Peter knows, Tony’s restated on multiple occasions, that all he needs to do is reach out. Say  _ boo, _ and Tony will be there.

He knows.

Right?

The weekend passes with no communication. Projects arise, meetings happen, and slowly (regrettably), Tony forgets about Peter. He’s just stepped out of a meeting on Tuesday afternoon when a secretary meets him out in the hallway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark.”

“Stephan, right?” Stephan nods, blushing slightly. Tony grins a signature Tony Stark smile.  _ Give him something. _ “What can I do for you?”

Stephan sobers quickly, stepping closer. “Well, Sir, there’s been an issue with security.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “What kind of issue?”

“We found a boy sleeping in a broom closet on the base floor.”

⬢ ⬢ ⬢

Tony lets Stephan lead him to Conference Room 3b. He keeps his shoulders back and his glasses high on his nose as he approaches the room with the closed blinds.  _ I’m really not in the mood for this today. _ “We have Rose from security in there with him,” Stephan informs Tony, who gives him a nod of acknowledgement before pushing forward into the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” Tony says as he strides inside, “a fan or a pap who pulled the short straw or a kid acting on a dare-”

A sniffle from the boy at the table has Tony stopping in his tracks, and his blood seems to freeze along with him. A boy sleeping in a broom closet. It couldn’t be-

With his heart beating loud in his ears, Tony turns toward the table in the centre of the room and looks down at the person sitting there. “Peter?”

The horror that floods Tony's veins is indescribable as Peter cowers beneath him, hunched over the desk. His eyes are red, shadowed as they appear, and his hands tremble in his lap. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark," he sobs, chest heaving. "I-I-I was just- I made a stupid mistake, I didn't know where else to go-"

Without looking up Tony waves Rose away, dismissing her from the room. He sinks into the chair opposite Peter, brow furrowed in concern. For the first time since…  _ ever, _ Tony realizes the lack of comfort in the chairs and winces against the cold metal. How long has Peter been waiting here? How did they treat him while they waited for Tony to get out of that meeting? Just for that, for keeping him away from his kid, Tony will  _ never  _ go into business with Roxxon.

The door clicks shut behind Rose. The echoing must sound like a death toll to the terrified boy, and Peter winces. “Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. Tony’s heart aches. “It was just one night, but then I- and she- and I took food from your kitchen, and I’m so sorry, and they took my backpack so I can’t give it back, but-  _ please, _ ” he begs. For the first time since Tony entered the room, Peter lifts his eyes. Tony forces himself to meet them, no matter how much they make him want to fall apart.

“Please, what?” Tony asks quietly, scared of the answer.

“Please don’t revoke the internship. I’ll leave, I’ll go somewhere else, and I promise you I’ll be better, I will, but this- it’s all I have, Mr. Stark.  _ Please _ .”

Tony, for the life of him, cannot find the words to speak. There’s a hollow space where his heart should be, and he seems to have forgotten how to breathe. Peter sobs in the silence, taking a shallow breath and dropping his head once more.

_ Say something, _ Tony demands of himself. And so, he starts simple.

“I’m not going to do that.” He sounds choked. “Just-- go back. Why are you….” Peter had taken the granola bars five days ago. “How long have you been sleeping…  _ here? _ ”

“21 days,” Peter answers quietly.

Tony winces. He forces himself to blink, to breathe, things his horror is forcing him to do manually. “And… and why….”

“May found out about Spider-Man. She….” He takes a shaky breath. “She kicked me out.” A thousand thoughts rampage in Tony’s mind, but he can’t formulate a single sentence. He can feel Peter’s panic from here, and yet isn’t able to do a single thing to stop it. “I was okay, the first night… I know the alleyways, so I-I found a good one, but the second, it rained. I didn’t  _ want _ to take from you, but kids at school wondered why I was wet, and all my work was damaged, and I just- it looked so…  _ warm. _ And it’s like a beacon, the tallest building, and it’s so welcoming and you….” Peter blushes bright red, squeezing his eyes closed. “You’re so kind, and I felt s-safe.”

Tony wants to say something, but Peter continues on before he can. “But I betrayed your trust, and I feel terrible, and I’m really,  _ really  _ sorry, please, Mr. Stark-”

“Stop.” Tony holds his hands out in front of him. If he hears the kid beg him, out of  _ fear, _ one more time, he might just throw up.

Peter pinches his lips together, wide, red eyes finding Tony’s. He’s accepted defeat, Tony realizes. He’s waiting for the death blow.

“Ok, I’m not -- gonna throw you out.” Peter visibly relaxes, his shoulders sagging. Tony’s never been at such a loss for words before; he’s always had something to say. Now, even his nervous rambling has failed him.

“Peter, I-” Peter flinches at the sound of his name. “Just- stop, I wouldn’t-” Every word he’s saying is making it  _ worse. _ Why isn’t Peter understanding that he’s not upset, that he wouldn’t  _ do  _ anything? That Peter’s safe here, that Tony wants him here?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Because this is a kid who’s been living on the street for days and hiding in a broom closet for  _ weeks. _ He found Tony because Tony made him feel safe, and yet, now Tony can’t make it better.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“ _ Bother _ me? Pete, this is something I  _ want _ to know! I want to be able to help you and -- and to know that you’re safe-”

“I didn’t think you would care.”

And  _ that, _ that hurts.

Because Tony would care about any kid that’s kicked out of their home, that’s going through what Peter has been, but he’d especially care about Peter. How does Peter not know what he means to Tony? How could he not understand the importance he holds in the mechanic’s heart?

“Of course, I care,” Tony manages to say, choking over his own words. “I just… I can’t believe you’re going through this, or that you hid it from me. I don’t  _ want  _ you to hide. I want you to be able to tell me anything, and know that I would never,  _ ever _ kick you out!” Peter keeps his head down.

“Hey. Look at me.” After a second, Peter lifts his gaze. “Hi.”

Peter smiles meekly. “Hey.”

“Do you understand that, when I say  _ anything, _ I mean it?” Peter nods. “Do you understand that I wouldn’t ever kick you out?”

“But I… I stole from you.”

“It was a granola bar!” Tony exclaims, throwing his arms up and shooting Peter an incredulous expression, with a half-smile. Slowly, Peter grins back. Tony laughs, and Peter chuckles, wiping an arm across his cheeks. But soon, the smile slips away.

Peter’s gaze returns to the table. “What do we do now?” he asks quietly.

“Well, first, we’re going up to the penthouse. You’re going to eat and shower and sleep on an actual bed.”

“Mr. Stark, I couldn’t-”

“ _ Then, _ I’m going to find that aunt of yours.”

Peter’s eyes blow wide. “What? No, she said not to contact-”

“I don’t care what she says. That was  _ her  _ responsibility to take care of you, and she failed, miserably.”

“What if….” Peter folds in tighter on himself. “What if she doesn’t take me back in?”

_ Yeah, Tony, _ his mind supplies unhelpfully.  _ What then? _

“Then-”  _ Then, what? _ “Then, you come live with me.”

_ Then- _

_ What? _

Peter’s expression of surprise almost makes Tony laugh. “Yeah, I mean it,” Tony says, and he realizes that he truly does. “I’ll take you in. I mean, I have the room.”

“No, that’s too much.”

“Yeah? And where would you go instead?”

Peter considers for a moment, blinking quickly as his eyes flit around the surface of the table. “I couldn’t ask you to-”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

Finally, Peter looks up, his eyes full of sadness and a twinge of fear (that Tony  _ hates _ to see), but also, of hope. “Do you really mean it?”

“When have I ever said anything I didn’t mean?” Peter makes a face, and Tony laughs. “Okay, bad example. But, yes, I do really mean it,” he finishes softly.

Peter blinks quickly as he stands from the table, and before he knows it Tony finds himself with his arms full of child as he almost tumbles from his chair.

“Whoa, there,” he tries to say, but Peter’s latched on tight, his head pressed to Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s mind short-circuits, but slowly he figures (guesses at) what to do, one arm ghosting over Peter’s back, and his hand gently pressing to Peter’s head. He’s holding Peter tight to him, and it’s odd, really; they’ve never shared much more than a handshake, a high five, before. It’s odd… but not necessarily unwelcome.

They can make this work.


	75. Broken mug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning

It’s the sum of one too many bad things that has Peter trembling, feeling like he can’t do anything right. He had forgotten he had a test second period, then his principal caught him walking the hallways and gave him a detention (when all he was doing was returning a library book), Flash shoved him too hard into the lockers and bruised his shoulder, and when Peter finally,  _ finally _ got to go out as Spider-Man, well… he couldn’t catch the guy. The woman had to go home, shaking and sobbing -- though Peter did the (second) best thing he could, walking her to her door.

She slammed it in his face.

He didn’t blame her.

His heart beats erratically in his chest, and he finds himself clenching his hands tighter around his backpack straps as he heads over to the Tower. He wills himself to calm down --  _ You’re Spider-Man. Spider-Man is stronger than this, c’mon _ \-- but if anything, he’s worse when he gets up to the penthouse. Now, even his vision is beginning to blur.

Peter hears the thuds of clattering dishes and follows it to the kitchen, and though the sounds seem to shake his core Peter’s glad that they’re not in the lab just yet; maybe Tony will let his ill condition slide. Maybe Peter will be better by the time he gets to doing what he loves.

Those activities seem meaningless, at the moment.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony greets as Peter rounds the corner, heading straight for one of the barstools. He smiles up at Tony, who juggles a coffee cup as he finishes making a sandwich one-handed. “Give me a sec to finish this, and we’ll head on down.”

Peter simply nods, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning his head into his hands.  _ Calm down. Calm- _ He can’t hear his thoughts over the sound of his heartbeat.  _ Stop it. Stop it. Breathe. _ The woman -- Lindy? Lucy? Shit, he can’t even remember her name- flashes into view, her face haunting him.  _ Failed her. Failed her. _ And that test, how could he have forgotten about it? How could he have forgotten the  _ material? _ It took him off-guard, that’s all -- but he should’ve  _ known. _ He’s in a school for geniuses; how could he be this dumb? He’s Spider-Man, and yet, he can’t save the neighbourhood. He’s failed, again and again. He’s disappointed his teachers, the civilians, and now Tony’s going to notice what an idiot he is and is going to kick him out forever. Of course, it wouldn’t have been long anyway, because Peter’s a screw-up, a failure-

A hand on his shoulder has Peter jerking back to life, blinking as he peels his hands away from his eyes and swings them sharply, trying to catch his balance as he falls-

There’s a crash. It sounds far off, and right at his feet.

Peter blinks quickly, first finding Tony’s wide eyes --  _ disappointed, _ at long last; and then, his eyes flit to the floor.

_ Oh, no. _

The coffee mug that had previously been in Tony’s hand now lies in tatters in a sea of brown. The aroma is pleasant, Peter might’ve noted on any other day. Now, it smells like defeat.

“ _ No, _ ” Peter whispers as he drops to the ground, acting on instinct as his tunnel vision zeroes in  _ the mess, look at the mess I’ve made on Mr. STark’s clean, expensive floors _ \- He scrambles to pick up the pieces of the mug, and with horror he sees the painted red shards, Iron Man red.

_ This is the Iron Man mug, his favourite. _

Peter’s mouth falls open in horror, his breathing ragged as he attempts to draw the pieces into a pile, hands stinging as they scrape against the edges. His vision blurs and his throat closes up, and Peter finds himself simultaneously angered at himself and devastated.  _ Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry, what are you, a child? You’ve made a mess, you have to clean it up- or Tony will hate you forever, prove you can be worthy, prove you can be good- _

“Whoa, hold on there,” Tony says, a pitch too loud. Peter can see where Tony stands, socks sheltering the slightest drops at the edge of the puddle. Peter moves quicker.  _ Clean it- Show him how good you are- _

“Peter, just-” Tony shifts his weight, trying to find a way to get to Peter without getting a mess on his clothes.  _ No, stay there. I can’t ruin anything else. _

“Stop it!” Tony exclaims suddenly, and Peter freezes, hands trembling over the haphazard pile of ceramic. Because, Tony actually sounds  _ angry. _

_ Oh, you’ve done it now, _ Peter thinks with dread. Shouldn’t have tried to pick it up with your hands (which now sting as rivers of red trickle down your palms). Should’ve looked for a broom. This is the dumbest thing you could’ve done; no wonder you suck at that school. Shouldn’t have knocked the mug over in the first place, shouldn’t have put your head down at the counter --  _ rude, rude _ \-- shouldn’t have come to the tower if you weren’t feeling well, shouldn’t have stayed away when Tony designated time out of his day to see you-

“C’mon,” Peter hears from above in a low voice. A hand enters his vision, palm out; an offering. Tony had stepped, one foot in the puddle, to reach him. “Up you get.”

Hesitantly, Peter grabs Tony’s hand and allows himself to be pulled out of the mess.  _ I don’t deserve this,  _ he thinks as he registers the liquid soaking into his clothes, dampening his knees.

Tony drops his hand when they’re in the clear and wordlessly goes into a cabinet, returning with paper towels. Slowly, he begins to clean the mess.

Peter hates how small his voice sounds. “Mr. Stark, can I-”

“Stay back for a second until I get these shards off the floor,” Mr. Stark says softly. Peter takes a trembling step away.  _ Stay back. Stay back. _ Tony doesn’t want him here. Tony’s pushing him away.

Peter’s cheeks feel warm, but whether it’s from the mortification or the tears, he can’t tell. He swipes his arm under his eyes, praying that the day will rewind, that he’ll blink and wake up in his bed at 8am that morning. He’s never desired an undo button more.

He’s seriously fucked up this time.

All Peter can do is stand back uselessly and watch as Tony mops up the mess, then deposits the paper towels in the garbage and wipe his hands. He crosses the now-clean floor (though Peter swears he can still see the marks --  _ oh, what if they stained? _ ) to stand before him, arms crossed. Peter keeps his eyes down.

“Bad day?” Tony says quietly, and that’s the thing that breaks the damn. Peter can’t breathe, and before he knows it he’s sobbing, words tumbling out in an incoherent mess as he tries to  _ stop it, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself _ \- but then he’s being pulled forward, and, he thinks this is a hug, and if this isn’t the best thing that’s happened all day -- although, the bar’s pretty low.

“You’re alright,” Tony mutters, pressing his palm to the base of Peter’s neck, and that helps loosen the tightness, a little. Peter feels awful, the worst he’s felt in a month, and he doesn’t know why Tony’s holding him; he certainly doesn’t deserve it.

And with all these thoughts circling in his mind, all Peter manages to whisper is, “I broke your favourite mug.”

And Tony, well- Tony laughs.

“Pete, it was two dollars,” he chuckles softly. “Dollarama, kid.”

Peter shakes his head. Tony seems to get the message -  _ that’s not the point _ \- and steps back, heading toward the cabinets. Peter sniffles, suddenly feeling cold.

“Besides, that’s not my favourite mug.” He disappears into the cabinet, resurfacing a moment later with a lopsided grin. “This one is.” And in both hands, cradled like a trophy, sits a mug with the Spider-Man emblem, bright and large.

Peter cracks a grin, sniffling and dropping his head. It’s better than he deserves.

Tony makes his way back to Peter’s side. “It’s all messed up,” Peter mutters, eyes on his feet. “I can’t do anything right and it’s just- all wrong.”

“Well, your socks match.”

“Great,” Peter sighs sarcastically.  _ That’ll fix my problems. _

Tony hums. “What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“I-I don’t remember.” Can he not even do  _ that? _

“Didn’t take you long to forget.” Peter glares at the floor. “This shouldn’t take long, either.”

Peter frowns now, more confused than anything. “Yeah, I mean, this day will pass. It may seem like the end of the world right now, but soon, well, you’ll forget all about it.”

“And what about the people I… interacted with?”

“Let me tell you a secret.” Tony ducks his head. “Other people don’t give a  _ shit  _ about anyone but themselves. I promise you, most of them have already forgotten.” Peter sniffles. He still has a detention on his school record, and that woman… well, she won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Tony places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “And if you don’t end up forgetting,” he says, as if he can read Peter’s mind, “it’ll become easier to deal with, really. Even if you think you’ll never move on from it…. even the hardest things, I promise.” There’s something behind his eyes, something sad. Peter doesn’t understand yet, but he feels he will, as he gets older, especially with his life.

Peter swallows past the lump in his throat, blinking quickly. “Thank you.”

Tony touches a hand to Peter’s shoulder, holding it there for one moment before withdrawing it and standing up taller. “Alright, floor’s clean, I’ll  _ finally _ get around to using that-” he gestures to the cabinet that houses the Spider-Man mug- “and now all that’s left is to create some robots.” He grins at Peter, and Peter finds himself smiling back. “You ready?”


End file.
